#In a desperate attempt to not feel like a complete and utter failure

[whysamwhy123]

So, I started writing a dumb crackfic about a bunch of my blorbos attempting to hit on my newest blorbo because it was funny in my head buuuuut turns out I'm not funny enough to bring it to life so I probably ain't gonna finish it. But I don't wanna feel like I completely wasted my time, so I'm just gonna drop the unfinished thing here because I can't seem to make myself continue it. It's a shame because I feel like it would have gotten a little better/funnier after I got the set-up out of the way, I had plans for where this would go, but alas, my brain has failed me yet again. And whatever, this most likely appeals to absolutely no one anyway, so here it is, read at your own risk because it sucks!

Jack was minding his own business before the show, wandering the halls while dicking around his phone, when he spotted Hook, just standing there.

‘’Hey man, what’s up?’’ he said, leaning against the nearest wall, still looking at his phone.

When no response came, Jack looked up. Hook was still as a statue, his eyes focused forward. Did he not hear him?

‘’Hello? Hook?’’

Jack got closer and slowly turned his head in the direction Hook was staring. ‘’What are you looki - whoa!’’

Jack almost dropped his phone when he first caught a glimpse of her. No wonder Hook was staring - she had to be the most beautiful woman he’d ever soon. She was fucking gorgeous. The kind of woman that’s so beautiful it feels like she shouldn’t be allowed to exist. Or that you shouldn’t be allowed to look at her, how dare you think yourself worthy! But she was real and she was right there all the way over on the other side of the hallway. She seemed to be checking how she looked in her phone’s camera, adjusting her long blonde hair and examining her makeup as though it wasn’t already perfect. She was perfect. She was wearing this all red ensemble that showed off just how killer her body was. And she was tall too. Long legs.

Jack’s mouth was agape. He knew it wasn’t polite to stare but how could he not?

‘’Jack, buddy,’’ Hook said, not taking his eyes off the beauty across the hall. ‘’I’ve found my next conquest.’’

Jack couldn’t take his eyes off her either. Who could blame them? ‘’Who is that?’’

Hook somehow managed to tear his eyes away from the vision they’ve been blessed to look upon and turned his head to Jack instead. ‘’My next conquest. Weren’t you listening?’’

Jack forced himself to look away - any longer and he was about to start drooling. ‘’No, who is she? What’s her name? I’ve gotta know.’’

‘’You seriously don’t know who she is?’’

The two men whirled around to find Daniel Garcia right next to them.

‘’How long have you been there?’’ Hook asked.

Daniel waved him off, a whatever gesture and then nodded his head in the direction of the unbelievably gorgeous woman. ‘’That’s Mariah May!’’

Hook and Jack blinked at him.

‘’From Stardom?’’

More blinking.

‘’Club Venus? Rose Gold?’’

‘’You’re just saying words at us, man,’’ Hook said.

Daniel gave them a judgemental look. ‘’You guys don’t watch Stardom? For real? Do you not watch any joshi wrestling at all?’’

Jack scratched the back of his neck. Hook gave a half-hearted shrug.

Daniel shook his head. ‘’What’s wrong with you guys? Y’all got no taste. Where else do you find spots to steal?’’

‘’My dad,’’ Hook said.

At the same time, Jack said, ‘’Shawn Michaels, I guess?’’

Daniel sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘’I’m surrounded by uncultured swines. Look, she was one of the hottest - literally - free agents in the business. She just signed here, she’s debuting tonight.’’

‘’She’s a wrestler?’’ Hook said. ‘’Damn. Would have been easier if she was a rat.’’

‘’She could be,’’ Daniel said. ‘’You can be a wrestler and a rat at the same time.’’

Hook narrowed his eyes at Daniel. ‘’You would know.’’

Daniel smiled back, completely oblivious. ‘’Yeah, I mean, look at Adam Cole. Or Edge. Or CM Pu -’’ He stopped himself and his eyes went wide in Jack’s direction. A very uncomfortable silence fell over the three of them, one that seemed to last precisely one million years. ‘’...other examples…’’

‘’Alright, enough standing around,’’ Hook said finally. He took his hands out of his hoodie pocket and cracked his knuckles. ‘’I’m going in.’’

Two hands, one from Daniel and one from Jack, shot out and grabbed his hoodie, preventing him from taking a step.

‘’No way,’’ Daniel said.

‘’Nuh uh,’’ Jack added.

Hook glared at the two. ‘’I saw her first.’’

Daniel was aghast. ‘’No, I saw her first! You didn’t know who she was until fifteen seconds ago!’’

‘’That doesn’t count,’’ Hook argued. ‘’I saw her first in the building, so I get first dibs.’’

‘’That’s not fair!’’ Jack whined.

Daniel said, ‘’You don’t understand, man - I’ve been crazy about this girl ever since I first saw her on Stardom World. I’ve been waiting for this moment for months - that could be the love of my life right there!’’

‘’Yeah, well, I wanna fuck her,’’ Hook said, as though that was the most airtight, well-reasoned counterpoint imaginable. ‘’You can fanboy over her all you want after I’m done with her.’’

‘’Hell no! I don’t want your sloppy seconds!’’

‘’If ‘the love of your life’ is sloppy seconds, what does that say about you, huh?’’

Hook and Daniel had been gradually inching closer to each other with each response. They both looked mad, like they were one second away from throwing punches. Jack couldn’t let that happen. Not after last time…

He put a hand on each man’s shoulder and created some distance between them. ‘’Guys, guys, calm down! We don’t need to fight.’’

Clearer heads seemed to prevail, Hook and Daniel shared a nod and then their body language changed, less guarded.

‘’Besides, you’re both wrong,’’ Jack continued. ‘’I should get to approach her first.’’

Hook and Daniel, now suddenly allies, raised an eyebrow each at Jack. ‘’Why?’’ they both asked at the same time.

‘’Because…’’ Jack started. His mind drew a blank. ‘’...I…want to…’’

Now it was Jack’s turn to be blinked at. He wracked his brain - he couldn’t let this opportunity slip away, not when the girl in question was that hot.

‘’Okay, here’s why it should be me! Or, I guess, here’s why it shouldn’t be either of you!’’ He pointed at Daniel. ‘’You hit on girls all the time, while I don’t. So much. So it’s only fair that I got a shot first because, you know, it’s a special occasion.’’ Daniel looked incredulous and opened his mouth to respond but Jack cut him off by pointing at Hook and continuing. ‘’And you! Aren’t you already seeing someone?’’

‘’Uh, no? The fuck you talking about?’’ Hook asked, looking very annoyed at the mere suggestion.

‘’What about that girl you hook up with all the time? The one who’s always texting you? Carly something?’’

Hook rolled his eyes. ‘’Alright, look - technically, I never told Carly we were exclusive. I just…told her a bunch of other stuff and she kinda assumed and I didn’t correct her because I didn’t wanna seem like an asshole. But just because she lets me hit on the regular doesn’t mean I owe her anything - she should understand that. So how is it my fault if she gets mad about something like this?’’

Jack furrowed his brow at his best friend. ‘’You…you don’t seriously think that, right? That’s gross!’’

‘’Nah, that makes perfect sense,’’ Daniel said. ‘’Flawless logic. She’s the one in the wrong, not you.’’

He and Hook shared a quick fistbump. Fuckboy solidarity.

Jack sighed deeply. ‘’See? This is why I should get to shoot my shot first - I won’t treat like her dirt like you two assholes!’’

Daniel looked offended. ‘’I’ll have you know, I’ll treat her like a queen!’’

Hook nodded. ‘’Yeah, same. Unless she doesn’t want me to, you know?’’

Fistbumps all around.

‘’There’s gotta be a way we can decide, fairly, who gets to go first,’’ Jack said. ‘’Some way we can settle this like mature adults. Like men.’’

The three men took a long moment to ponder their predicament and search for an appropriate solution.

Hook glanced down at his fist. ‘’Rock, paper, scissors?’’

‘’Yes,’’ Jack said, emphatically.

Daniel rubbed his hands together. ‘’Alright, how we doing this? Elimination style or triple threat rules?’’

Jack decided to defer to Hook; it was his idea after all.

Hook considered it for a moment. ‘’The usual 3-way match rules. First to score a fall wins.’’

The three of them formed a triangle and each of them placed a fist onto their other palm, ready and waiting. After silently confirming they were all ready through a series of shared nods, Jack took it upon himself to count them down.

‘’Okay, here we go! Rock, paper, scissors, sh -’’

Before he could finish, Jack was shoved back by Daniel, his back colliding with the wall. Daniel then grabbed Hook’s hand, still balled into a fist, and promptly covered it with his own palm, preventing Hook from changing his option and signalling paper-beats-rock.

‘’I win!’’ he announced proudly.

Hook ripped his hand away. ‘’Like hell you do!’’

‘’The fuck was that?!’’ Jack demanded, rubbing his back where it was now sore. ‘’That wasn’t a win, you cheated!’’

Daniel smiled smugly. ‘’No, I didn’t. We said triple threat rules - that means it’s No DQ.’’

A lengthy discussion ensued about what exactly constitutes a disqualification in a game of Rock, Paper, Scissors, hollowed by a side tangent about why there aren't disqualifications in a triple threat match. Upon realising that they weren’t going anywhere and were just wasting time, they all agreed to play by elimination rules. Hook was the first fall, picking paper while Jack and Daniel went with scissors. And in the finals, Jack’s paper bested Daniel’s rock. How poetic.

‘’Yes!’’ Jack exclaimed triumphantly. He took a great deal of satisfaction in Hook and Daniel’s sour, dejected expressions.

Jack glanced back over to confirm that Mariah was a) still there and b) hadn’t overheard any of that, which turned out to be true on both counts. She was in the exact same spot as before, still admiring herself in her phone’s camera. Jack could relate.

Jack took a few deep breaths to psyche himself up. ‘’Okay, Jack, you got this. You got this! I know exactly what’ll work here!’’

Hook groaned. ‘’You’re not seriously gonna try that again, are you?’’

‘’I told you, it totally works!’’ Jack said, defiant. ‘’Sometimes.’’

‘’What’s he talking about?’’ Daniel asked.

Hook sighed. ‘’He has this thing he does to try and pick up girls. It’s stupid - he just stands around looking sad and supposedly, a girl will eventually come up to him and ask him what’s wrong.’’

‘’It. Works. Sometimes,’’ Jack insisted.

Daniel considered that. ‘’Huh. Yeah, I can see it. One time, there was this girl who told me I had ‘sad eyes’ and it was half the reason she fucked me. So you might be onto something.’’

With his confidence boosted, Jack took another breath to calm his nerves and headed down the hallway to his target. He willed himself to stay calm, but he grew more nervous with each footstep. The closer he got, the better he could see her. She was even more stunning up close.

When he was near enough, he put on his game face. Which was to say, he put on his best sad puppy dog eyes and leaned against the wall, dejected.

His head was bowed, but he could see Mariah out of the corner of his eye. Unfortunately, she was still distracted by her own reflection. Jack didn’t blame her, but he really needed her to look his way. 

He let out a loud sigh. Nothing. So he sighed louder. Still nothing. The third sigh was so loud and exaggerated, it was almost comical. But it was the one that got the job done. Mariah finally looked up from her phone and found him there. There was a flash of concern on her face and Jack knew his diabolical plan was working.

‘’Excuse me, are you alright? You look really sad!’’

Whoa, she has an English accent? Jack wasn’t expecting that. It took him a couple of seconds to process and actually respond.

‘’Oh, it’s nothing, really. Just one thing after another today, you know?’’

Jack knows this is the part where she asks more questions about why he’s so sad and tries to cheer him up.

Mariah just hummed. ‘’Okay,’’ she said, and then turned her attention back to her phone.

Uh oh. It’s not going according to plan! Jack’s brain scrambled for what to do next. He pushed himself away from the wall and closer to her.

‘’Uh, hey, wait! Uh, I’m Jack!’’ he said, offering his hand out.

She eyed his hand curiously and then reluctantly shook it. Goddammit, why did he try to shake her hand? That’s not romantic, that’s…business-y?

‘’Nice to meet you, I guess,’’ she said. ‘’I’m Mariah May.’’

‘’Yeah, I know who you are,’’ Jack said. He wracked his brain for what it was Daniel said about her back there. ‘’I saw you wrestle in, uh…Venus World?’’

#What is wrong with you Sam you should not be allowed to write #What can I say? I have a weird desire to write about my blorbos being idiot fuckboys *shrugs* #Uh oh Sam's gotten so bad at this writing shit that they're posting unfinished fic on tumblr #In a desperate attempt to not feel like a complete and utter failure #It's frustrating when a fun idea doesn't turn out to be as fun when you have to actually write it yourself #This happens to me a lot unfortunately #If you actually read this and wondered where it was going - #DG would try next and attempt to impress her with his in-depth knowledge of her Stardom career #But he'd end up failing by making it all about himself and then doing his dance at her which would just creep her out #Then Hook would try by just asking her ''How's your day?'' and then standing there listening to her for a while #And then he'd say ''I really like listening to you.'' #And he's like right this is the part where she pounces on me and begs me to fuck her #But it don't happen and Mariah tells him he's not her type #Which prompts Hook to have an existential breakdown due to being rejected by a girl for the first time in his life #And then Toni comes along to see what the fuss is all about and she's like ''Children please let me show you how it's done!'' #And then she effortlessly rizzes Mariah in a matter of seconds and the three fuckboys watch on like ''Aw man!'' #''Why are the hottest girls always gay?!'' #Yeah...it seemed a lot funnier in my head but now I'm reading it back....ouch 😬 #I'm thinking it's a good thing I abandoned ship here LOL

[humanitys-strongest-bamf]

His Last Hope | Canonverse Oneshot

✧ word count ➼ 1.6k ✧ notes ➼ canonverse, implied relationship, injured reader, protective!levi

Levi walked through the line-up of dead bodies with a blank look on his face. He originally only saw Eldo's body, but eventually found the rest of his squad's as well. They really had been wiped out. Despite him picking his squad members from the best of the best, they still lost overwhelmingly to the Female Titan.

A frown gradually grew on his face as he reached the end of the line-up. As he was walking through, he felt his heart rate steadily increasing as he continuously searched for the one person he had been looking for ever since this mission took a turn towards complete and utter failure. Although not seeing you in the dead body line-up was a relief, every second of not knowing only contributed to the panic that he was beginning to feel.

“Are those all the bodies?” he asked calmly as he heard a scout approach him from behind.

The scout was holding a clipboard and cross referencing names of bodies they found versus the scouts’ verbal reports on who they saw die.

“We’re almost done. There were about five dead that we couldn’t recover,” the scout finally said as he finished counting off his list. “Do you think we should go back for them?”

Levi felt himself tense at that answer. He could not put himself at ease. He desperately wanted to say yes, and to launch another expedition into that forest to find everyone’s corpses so he could be certain as to what happened.

“No,” he said decisively. “If you confirmed they’re dead, that’s enough.”

He paused for a second before forcing the next few words out of his mouth.

“Whether you have the body, dead is dead.”

He was saying that in an attempt to get rid of the intense discomfort he had been feeling throughout the past few hours.

I feel like I’m having a heart attack or as if I just inhaled a shitton of dust and can’t breathe properly. It feels fucking horrible.

You were the last attachment that he had left in his life. It wasn't because others weren't available for him to bond with. It was because he didn't want to. From the very beginning, the minute he got attached to someone meant he was bound to lose them. This was true with everyone he had ever met, except for you. It was like getting close to him was a curse that doomed someone the minute it happened. It just wasn’t worth the effort for him to open himself up to someone if they were bound to leave. 

He had accepted that he was bound to be alone upon the loss of his mother and father figure as a child. He accepted that into adulthood as he wandered the Underground, performing odd jobs for people he couldn’t be bothered to remember. He accepted that as a part of his life, until he didn’t. He took a gamble, took a risk, and allowed himself to believe that he finally found a set of people that he wasn’t doomed to lose. He had finally begun to let himself get attached and believe in hope, until he didn’t.

He remembered his despair upon seeing their corpses. He had made one small mistake that he would regret up until this very day. He had left them alone, unable to protect them, and by the time he realized the gravity of his error, they were gone. He remembered being the lone survivor surrounded by the corpses of his comrades. He remembered the despair that coursed through his body on that one fateful day, before he vowed to no longer subject other people to the curse that was becoming close with Levi Ackermann.

He remembered his resolve to follow that vow immediately shattering once he saw that there had been one other survivor: you. He remembered relief soaring through his chest as he watched you shift from what seemed like a corpse back into a living, breathing person. It made him feel like he was going to throw up and disintegrate into dust. He hated it. He never wanted to feel that again. 

On that day, he had vowed that this one final connection would be the only one he would allow himself to have and that he would never subject himself to feeling that ever again. With every fiber of his being, he poured his soul into protecting that one final attachment in his life. Every comrade that he lost to the Titans piled onto the grief that he adamantly began shoving in a corner of his mind. Now that he was so unsure of your fate, he felt that part of his mind looming over him, and he wasn't sure how much he'd be able to stand.

“Captain Levi?” asked the scout, noticing that Levi had gone quiet.

“I said what I said. It won’t change anything regardless of what we do, other than piling more bodies onto this pile of corpses,” he said without an ounce of empathy in his voice. “Do you at least have the names of the five we weren’t able to gather?”

He listened closely as the scout read off the names of five new recruits that had fallen in combat. He took particular notice that you were not included in that category. He felt that sense of relief itching at the back of his mind, but he was hesitant to let it settle in. Just because you weren't on that list did not mean that you were alive.

“Any wounded survivors?”

He immediately looked in the direction that the scout pointed to and found a few wagons that were lined up with the wounded. He slowly walked over, carefully glancing into each one, feeling his heart rate increasing with every wagon he walked past.

He slowly came to a stop once he finally saw you.

You were fucked up, that was for sure. He could tell that your body was barely holding itself together and that the lineup of cushions and spare cloaks around you was in a desperate attempt to keep your body aligned as a makeshift human-sized splint. He saw that there were bandages wrapped all over your lower torso that were already soaked through with blood.

He felt that panic that had been building up start to dissipate, but it wasn't necessarily relief that settled in. He didn't feel better or more at ease or less miserable. He still felt that sense of not being able to breathe, like danger was still lurking around the corner. The longer he looked at you, the more intense that feeling became.

Slowly, a dark look entered his face as he fixated his gaze upon you.

“Captain?” the scout behind him asked once he noticed that Levi had stopped walking entirely.

However, Levi had either failed to process their voice or just chose to ignore it entirely.

“God damn it,” he whispered to himself under his breath. “The one time I leave you on your own, you decide to nearly die on me, _____.”

~~~~~

You felt an annoying rumbling sensation that refused to go away. No matter how uncomfortable you were, you found that you were not able to toss and turn to adjust your sleeping position. You had a horrible headache and backache. People were talking all around you and you frowned, wondering who would be so inconsiderate to be talking at top volume in your vicinity when you were clearly sleeping.

“The rear line has sighted Titans!” someone shouted.

It was becoming clearer to you that there were multiple people around you and that you were not in bed, although their voices were very muffled.

“I don’t see any tall trees or buildings,” a familiar voice said. “Fighting out here will be difficult. We’re better off outrunning them until we reach the walls.”

Reach the walls? Where am I?

Slowly, you peeled your eyes open, squinting at the sun that was shining from the horizon. You looked up and saw Levi sitting above you, talking towards someone that was riding on a horse next to your wagon. He had a makeshift splint on his left leg.

Seeing his injury quickly reminded you of where you were. You were in the middle of an expedition to catch a traitor in their ranks, and had fallen when engaging an abnormal Titan. You were not at home. You were not in bed. You were being carried on a wagon for wounded soldiers and Levi was sitting protectively above you.

You immediately tried to sit up so you can better grasp the situation, but immediately stopped as you felt an intense pain in your lower left torso.

Before you could even think about pushing through the pain to sit, you heard Levi sigh as he looked down at you.

“Lay back down,” he said sternly. “You’re too injured to fight.”

You groaned in pain, but continued to get up.

“I-I’ll be fine, Levi.”

"Tch," Levi immediately gently pushed you back down, knowing that you were too weak to fully resist.

"I said lay back down," he repeated as he scowled at you.

You sighed in defeat, looking directly into his eyes. They had a dark look about them and his eyebrows were slightly furrowed together as he looked down at you.

Without saying a single word, you knew that he was pissed—and likely, at you.

You had failed to save his squad. Your plan to draw out the imposter had failed. You had failed to lead the squad to victory like you were expected to. If anything, this further proved what you saw as Levi's belief in your incompetence on the battlefield.

A/N: i should probably starting ordering these because they're all from that slow-burn fic i mentioned, i just suck at posting them in order

#levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackermann x reader #levi heichou x reader #captain levi x reader #levi #levi ackerman #levi ackermann #levi heichou #captain levi #attack on titan #aot #shingeki no kyojin #shingeki no kyoujin #snk

[mightymizora]

can i ask about glimmergris and her relationship with the gnomes in the story? her thoughts and feelings on barcus, wulbren, the gondians? and any other gnome that shows up in the story!

Weee oh something juicy! This is a core part of the fic but I will chat a bit about it here. Will put most of it under the cut, thank you SO much for asking it!

So the first thing that's important context is Glim is a surface Deep Gnome from Silverymoon. She's in her late fifties and is the youngest of her mother's children by almost a hundred years, so she has a complex relationship to family, responsibility, and the desire for more freedom to live her life as an artist. She studied formally as a Bard in Silverymoon and lived among a range of people in a multicultural city. Her clan is called Silvervein, and is made up of lots of remnants of other clans who ended up in the city once Blingdenstone fell.

So when she meets Barcus, she's so happy because finally! Somebody who looks like her people! But he is wary of her, and tells her she is foolish for travelling with humans and elves because they aren't safe companions. It makes her doubt herself a bit - perhaps he is right, perhaps she can't really trust them.

Thulla is the first Deep Gnome who really treats her with any recognition, and it's largely because she needs the help. Glim knows clan Ironhand by reputation, and is only too willing to do whatever is needed. But seeing what has happened to them devastates her. When she tries to help, they still treat her as an outsider. They see her as soft and untested. Philomeen particularly gets to her. Glim prides herself in being able to communicate with everybody, that's part of her skill set, and her utter failure to get through to her sends her spiralling. She kills Nere, she kills all of the Duergar, and the gnomes still ask her why she would help them. It breaks her spirit a bit.

She's still focused on saving Wulbren because she sees the importance of the Runepowder and what it could mean to Deep Gnomes generally, and this does at least does start the path for Barcus to trust her a bit more. When she finally rescues Wulbren, she is completely taken in by him! He has real ideas for surface gnomes, and he is, relatively speaking, very charming for a Deep Gnome. She spends the whole first night after their rescue speaking to him and the other Ironhands about their plans in Baldur's Gate, which hurts Barcus (and Gale) quite a bit.

When they get to the gate, they are rescued by the Ironhands, and Glim is completely ready to play her part in the plot. She believes the Gondians have made a choice and that this is going to be how they restore proper trade to their people, and she's seriously considering staying in the Gate to help rebuild Clan Ironhand if they survive. She even goes to the burrow at night without telling the others. She so desperately wants to feel like she belongs, especially after she finds out that her mother has passed away while she has been travelling.

Then, when she finally breaks into the Foundry and finds out the truth, she is furious. She tries to talk to Wulbren and he doesn't support her, she tries to speak to Barcus and he won't stand against Wulbren, and her actions have caused a big rift with Gale too. She saves the hostages, saves the Gondians, and finally has the strength to walk away from the whole mess.

I like to think Barcus forgives her over time, but that their relationship remains mostly in letters as she supports him from a distance in his attempts to lead his clan.

#glimmergris #thank you for this ask! #honestly could be twice as long but this is the overview #svirfneblin #deep gnomes

[viciousbite]

Feeling sorrow, drabble

Another failed attempt, another disappointment. A feeling of loneliness washed over his form. There was no joy in any of this. To watch his head turn to ash, over and over again. Tonight it grew a torso, but... seconds later, when Urogi clutched onto its hand, the body began to twist and broke every grown bone in its form. Until the torso became a pile of unrecognizable flesh and turned to ash within minutes.

Urogi felt empty, his chest hurt, so much. He clutched his chest with his claws and bent forward as his body began to tremble. Why did it not work? Why did he have to be the only one to survive? Why was the world so cruel to him? Why couldn't he do it? Why was he so weak?!

Like a protective shell, his wings wrapped around his curled up form. Tried to comfort him, to imagine everything was going to turn out well, he just needed time... So much time... Alone... He hated it, he was getting more desperate by each day. He didn't feel like himself anymore. It was hard to keep smiling, to be giddy, because he had no joy left to have. He had been abandoned, by his very self, his lord... complete, utter failure.

The forced smile on his lips cracked, like a broken mirror as a stabbing feeling pierced through his heart. It hurt, it hurt, everything hurt inside. Urogi's trembling grew, he shook like a leaf under his wings as he curled up into a tight ball. The first sob ever came out of his mouth as salty tears poured their way out of his eyes in rivers. Why-- what was happening? He couldn't stop it, they kept coming. Weird salty water!

Fingers uselessly wiped at his tears as whimper after whimper came out of his mouth. "S-stop it! This is not me--! I can't give up!! I haven't--- I, I..." Claws turned their attention to the ground as he tried to clutch onto something, but only scratched at dirt while his legs kicked back uselessly. "This is not fair...!! Why.... why did you leave me...! A-all alone..." The demon wept, vulnerable, curled up against dirt. His wings covered his form, hiding the shameful display of new emotions.

"Please... i cant do this... alone... much longer..." Voice quieted down with each sob of his words as his body washed over with painful emptiness. He never knew... how exhausting crying was...

#Drabble~ #//Survival AU! #//Late night writings #//that I did last night in bed #//kinda cringy but #//I live for it-- xD #//I will write a more cheerful drabble for him someday too

[yaminerua]

I'm thinking for much of the rest of smegtober I'll have to switch to drawings because the writing part of my brain is getting fatigued lol but I managed to churn this last one out tonight ahead of the other one I have ready for tomorrow;;

As always, prompts are by @a-literal-toaster-wtf

Today's prompt was Test, which of course immediately calls forth images of Rimmer and his many examination attempts;;

Words: 4137

****

Rimmer had done it again. He had smegging gone and done it again.

Somehow, despite all the meticulous planning and obsessive timetabling, despite having carefully mapped out every hour of every day for the last few months to optimise his revision and maximise his chances of success, here he was again on the last night before the exam feeling no better prepared than he had been before he’d even started.

It always ended up like this. Every time exam season came around he would work tirelessly, relentlessly, trying to find a study pattern that worked, subdividing his free time evenly into rest periods and study periods, allocating every subject and topic its own slot to prioritise information retention. It should have been a flawless method, workshopped to the nth degree, sharpened and improved to perfection after so many attempts and yet even after all this effort, after all this time, the result was always the same; complete and utter humiliating failure.

Of course, the fact that much of this revision time was usually eaten up by preparing the timetables themselves in the first place was an important part of why he always found himself in this situation but he was loathe to do anything to change the habit, somehow convincing himself that it had only failed because he hadn’t found the perfect routine yet and that once he figured that out and constructed the timetable to end all timetables he would be golden and he could finally kiss the lowly rank of Second Technician goodbye.

The definition of madness, as they say, is trying the same thing over and over expecting a different result.

Huffing out a distressed, agitated breath, Rimmer dug the heels of his palms roughly into his eyes, rubbing vigorously until he saw stars. He had no idea what time it was anymore. The concept of time itself seemed to have faded into the background of his mind, locked away in a box he didn’t want to have to open because at this point knowing just how long he had left was likely to do nothing more than send him tipping fully over the edge of anxiety and into a full-blown panic attack and he knew from past experience that if he let that happen his shot at success would be over then and there.

He was virtually running on fumes at this point, the last few nights a desperate haze of stressed, sleep-deprived revising – if staring manically at an open textbook and taking absolutely none of it in for hours could really be called revising – and his eyes were positively burning with the effort it was taking just to keep them open.

His head ached. It was as though his very brain itself had swollen up in his skull, pressing up against the insides and throbbing profusely from the exertion of trying to cram multiple textbooks’ worth of knowledge into it in the space of a few hours. The pressure alone made him thankful for the relative silence of the bunkroom.

Lister was out. Some time ago he had disappeared off with the rest of his brainless gang of hooligan friends to drink himself to unconsciousness and dance until the early hours of the morning with whoever could stand to be around him. With any luck he might hit it off with some desperate tart who would take him off to her quarters and spare Rimmer the trouble of having to put up with a drunken Lister staggering his way back and breaking his concentration.

It was the only silver lining this whole situation had at the moment. With Lister out and suitably occupied for the night Rimmer didn’t have to battle against his textbooks while enduring the torture of listening to Lister utterly murder a halfway decent song with his toneless singing or his even more unbearable guitar playing.

Aside from the background hum of Red Dwarf all around, there wasn’t a single other disruptive sound to complain about – which also meant there wasn’t an adequate distraction to blame his imminent failure on if it came down to it later.

Removing his hands from his face, he blinked the room slowly back into focus and hunched forwards over his textbook again, feeling the tension in his neck and the ache between his shoulder blades from too long spent in this exact position.

He felt as though he had been stuck trying to read the same sentence for hours, as though his brain had stalled and he couldn’t move past it until it started up again. Oh sure, his eyes would skim the letters and recognise the shapes and the words were certainly words he knew individually but as far as the meaning of the sentence as a whole and the information it held were concerned, Rimmer had absolutely no idea what he was reading.

It was as though the part of his brain that registered new information had gone on strike. Nothing was getting through and all that he seemed to be achieving by continuing to try to force it to was making his head and eyes hurt even more.

He needed to rest but there was no time for rest anymore. Frankly he was terrified that if he even so much as allowed himself the briefest moment to nap then he would sleep right through the exam and have to go through this whole nightmare all over again. He wasn’t prepared for that. Revision was key right now and sleep could wait. He would have plenty of time (not to mention peace of mind) to be able to catch up on the rest he’d missed once the exam was over and he’d passed the stupid smegging thing.

Frowning down at the page he blinked furiously, finding it more and more difficult to keep the lettering clear and sharp in his vision. Everything was starting to smudge at the edges, to bleed into the space around it as though there was something in his eye that wasn’t budging no matter how much he tried to blink or rub it away.

He shook his head, leaning further forwards towards the textbook, squinting to see if maybe that would help sharpen things by narrowing his field of view but it was no use.

The harder he stared at it, the more desperately he attempted to take in so much as a single solitary sentence, the more the words on the page swam dizzyingly just to spite him, rippling and distorting before his very eyes until they better resembled a particularly unappetising-looking kind of alphabet soup than anything comprehensible.

He dropped his forehead down to rest between the pages of the textbook, eyelids scrunching shut as he groaned plaintively into the quiet of the room. Why was his brain conspiring against him at this hour? He only had hours left and it was betraying him. Why was he wasting time wrestling with himself like this when he only had a limited window of opportunity to make some good, solid progress before Lister came back and crashed unceremoniously through his focus with all the grace of a hippo let loose on an ice rink? He didn’t have time for this!

Just to drive home exactly how much the universe had it in for Arnold J. Rimmer, the moment that desperate thought had so much as flitted miserably across his mind his ears picked up the tell-tale distant hollers of giddy, raucous laughter emanating from somewhere outside, growing steadily louder with every drunken, staggered step.

Pass by, don’t come in. Pass by, don’t come in… Rimmer thought fervently, repeating it over and over, beseechingly, in his head like some sort of desperate mantra, praying to whatever god might exist out there to take pity on him for just once in his smegging life but as had been well-established by now, if there was a god they certainly didn’t have a heart.

The door to the sleeping quarters slid open with a harsh, piercing hiss and in staggered one extremely wasted David Lister, an open can of Leopard Lager in his hand and a lit cigarette in the other.

With great difficulty he co-ordinated a clumsy wave to the retreating backs of Petersen and the others before he finally turned his attention to Rimmer, who had by this point straightened up stiffly at his desk and was doing his level best to try to pretend that he wasn’t secretly weighing up the pros and cons of throwing Lister out an airlock and blaming it on his own drink-addled mind. Unfortunately he didn’t think the ship’s CCTV would be on his side there so he begrudgingly had to shelf that idea.

As Lister stumbled his way towards him and leaned in far too close over his shoulder, the stench of beery breath and tobacco met his nostrils and he grimaced. “Lister, go away,” he hissed through tightly gritted teeth, every muscle in his body tightly clenched to resist the urge to swat at him and push him back. “I’m trying to revise.”

“Smeg, Rimmer, you’re such a bore!” Lister said, entirely too loud and entirely too close to his ear, his words slurring pathetically together. “You need to live more!”

Rimmer sniffed indignantly and finally deigned to press the back of his hand to Lister’s front and push him firmly away. “I’ll have plenty of time to do that once I’m an officer,” he said matter-of-factly, ignoring how hollow he felt inside as he said it. “For now my priorities lie elsewhere.”

Lister snorted and he took a long swig of his can of lager. “Yeah, bein’ a bore,” he muttered, staggering back over toward his bunk, humming tuneless snippets of Lunar City Seven as he went.

Rimmer could throttle him, honestly, but he bit back the impulse, however inviting it may have been. Instead he remained as he was, staring bitterly, contemptuously down at the infuriating textbook in front of him, taking nothing in while he listened to the rustling and shuffling of Lister moving about behind him, hopefully getting ready for bed.

He heard the discordant squeak of the ladder as Lister clambered his way up it and the tell-tale creak of the top bunk as it took the full weight of Lister’s body on it and he heaved a premature sigh of relief at this inconvenient interruption hopefully being only a brief one.

Before long, just like he hoped, the movement behind him stilled and Lister grew silent – or as silent as he could be given his tendency to snore – and Rimmer finally allowed himself to release some of the tension he had been holding. Maybe the brief distraction might have helped in a way, might have cleared his head enough for him to return his attention back to what was actually important.

He was mindful, agonisingly so, about how very little time he had left now. Since Lister had come back that meant that time had progressed considerably while he hadn’t been paying attention to it and he surely only had a measly handful of hours left at the most to fill his head with enough knowledge to pass. He flexed his fingers nervously, hyper-aware of the sweat beading on his brow as he considered opting for the last resort. It was the only hope he had left.

Glancing shiftily at the door and warily back over his shoulder, he watched Lister’s sleeping form for a good long moment, trying to ascertain for sure whether he was absolutely asleep and unaware of his surroundings. The last thing he needed was Lister of all people waking up and potentially ratting him out. That would be a fate worse than death.

Seeing that, for now, the coast was clear, he swallowed thickly and reached slowly, shakily, into the right hand pocket of his trousers, procuring from it a small, nondescript packet of little white pellets. Learning pills were strictly not allowed on board Red Dwarf. Rimmer knew that well. He had on numerous occasions in the past reprimanded countless other crewmates who he had spotted with the offending little things, scoffing obnoxiously at their pathetic need to rely on something illegal to help them succeed, all the while holding onto them himself instead of turning them in in case of a rainy day. Oh, how the mighty had fallen.

He opened the cap quietly and, with a trembling hand, tipped two pills out onto his palm before hurriedly stowing the container away again. He stared down at them apprehensively, heart hammering in his chest and stomach churning at the sickening, depressing realisation that it really had come to this. If he wanted any chance of passing they were his only hope.

With one last quick, anxious glance back at Lister, he popped them in his mouth before he could change his mind and washed them down hastily with what was left of his almost-forgotten glass of water.

He waited a few moments for the panicked surge of nerves to subside, giving the drugs some time to hit his stomach and begin to make their way into his system. He wasn’t entirely sure quite how good an idea it had been to take them on an empty stomach when he was as sleep-deprived and physically exhausted as he was but he had done it now and his fate rested with them.

Lowering his gaze down to the Astro-Navigation textbook again, he sucked in a shaky breath and let it out slowly, trying to channel what little mental energy he was still clinging onto into focusing on the words in front of him, praying that the learning pills would aid him in retaining the information. Even if all they managed to do was hold the knowledge in his head long enough for him to regurgitate it all out during the exam and then forget all of it immediately afterwards that would be fine. He just needed it to last for a few hours.

Evidently he had left resorting to this final option a little too late. They ought to have invented pills that helped him focus as well.

Maybe it was the tiredness, maybe it was the stress, maybe it was a combination of both but it didn’t matter how hard he tried, how much he squinted and strained his eyes to try to make sense of any of the words in front of him. His mind had clearly shuttered itself off and was simply not allowing anything more in. He could stare at this page and all of the words written on it for the rest of the day and it would simply never make it through. He was doomed.

Raking his hands raggedly through his hair, Rimmer let out a low, tortured groan, dropping his head onto the table and clenching his eyes tight shut so he didn’t have to see the textbook anymore, didn’t have to look hopelessly down at the same stupid page he had spent most of the night so far stuck unable to get past. It was going to take a miracle to get anything of use to enter his brain now, even with the aid of learning pills.

He must have looked pathetic, sitting there slumped with his head on the desk and his hands in his hair. He had made an absolute mess of himself by now, his usually neat, severe side parting completely unravelling, the forcibly tamed curls freed from the submission they were usually brushed harshly into. He looked thoroughly dishevelled, as though he had been pulling his hair out all night. In many ways, that probably wasn’t entirely inaccurate.

Breathing out roughly, he let his head roll miserably to the side, sliding his eyes open to gaze dolefully, enviously, over at Lennon and McCartney, Lister’s stupid robotic goldfish that he’d brought back from his last shore leave trip. They were swimming slowly, mesmerisingly, around their bowl in repetitive, mindless little circles without a single care in the world, without a shred of responsibility or expectation or disappointment weighing down on them and as Rimmer watched them absently, dazedly, as though he were hypnotised, he felt something hollow and mournful settle unpleasantly behind his chest.

God, he wished he was a fish…

He remained like that, utterly entranced, his mind far away, for the next four hours and although he wasn’t exactly asleep, when the intercom finally sounded and Holly’s monotonous voice droned out the important morning announcements, it was as though he was dead to the world and he didn’t hear a word of it.

“Will all entrants for the Astro-Navigation exam please make their way to the teaching room. The exam will begin soon.”

On the top bunk, Lister stirred slightly, his face scrunching up as the loud chime of the intercom pierced through the deep veil of drunken sleep he had been nestled in and rudely stabbed his hung-over brain like an arrow.

Peeling a tired eye open, he squinted groggily over at the desk where Rimmer was still sat, hunched over and seemingly asleep. “Rimmer?” he called out, his throat hoarse after the night’s antics. “You awake?”

There came no response, which was an answer in and of itself. Lister groaned, rubbing his eyes vigorously before lifting his head with great difficulty up off the pillow. “Rimmer,” he said again, a little louder this time.

When Rimmer still failed to have any reaction at all, Lister rolled his eyes and with great effort, begrudgingly heaved his heavy aching body up into a sitting position, clutching his head momentarily as it swam dizzyingly from the change in posture. He didn’t want to have to be awake yet and would rather have slept off the rest of his night out until well into the afternoon but he knew that dealing with a hung-over headache from a premature wake-up call would be far more preferable to the absolute monster migraine Rimmer would give him for failing to wake him up in time for his exam.

Stumbling over towards him, Lister reached out to shake him by the shoulder and froze when he realised that Rimmer didn’t seem to be asleep after all. In any case he certainly had his eyes open though whether he was still conscious remained to be seen. For now he was staring unblinkingly over at the fish tank, his expression completely vacant like some kind of lifeless zombie. It was more than just a little bit disconcerting.

“Hey, Rimmer, man,” Lister said uncertainly, waving a hand tentatively in front of Rimmer’s face. “You okay?”

The reaction was almost instant. The moment Lister’s hands came into view, Rimmer’s expression crumpled like a tin can subjected to tremendous pressure, his eyes snapping shut as he brought a hand up to rub at his face. “Ugh,” he groaned, pulling himself stiffly back into an upright sitting position, his neck and shoulders aching.

Lister watched him warily, an eyebrow quirked with mild concern. He’d seen Rimmer work himself up into an exhausted wreck before but never quite like this. “You alright?” he asked again.

“Of course I’m alright, you gimboid!” Rimmer snapped irritably, thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose tightly, wincing at the sound of his own voice in his ears. “What do you want?”

Lister’s face creased into a frown and he crossed his arms moodily over his chest. So much for a grateful morning greeting. “Just thought I’d wake you,” he said, glancing at the clock on the sink beside the bunks. “Since it’s exam o’clock now and all.”

Rimmer looked like he had just been force fed a particularly sour and putrid lemon.

“WHAT!?” he cried, horrified, leaping to his feet suddenly and nearly knocking the chair he had been sitting on over in the process. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“I wasn’t awake!” Lister said, holding his hands up innocently. “I just woke up meself!”

Rimmer wasn’t paying any attention to him anymore. He was in an absolute panicked frenzy, scrambling for his comb and attempting to carve his forgotten side parting back into existence before gathering up the rest of his things.

Lister watched him, bemused, and had to stop him at one point when he spotted that Rimmer was about to squeeze foot cream onto his toothbrush. Handing him the correct tube, he fixed him with a dubious stare. “You sure you’re alright, man?” he asked. “You were starin’ at me fish all in a trance just there.”

“That was intentional, Lister!” Rimmer stated, but the projected confidence was an unconvincing façade. “I had finished revising everything and was simply taking a break to let the information settle in my brain!”

Lister wasn’t fooled in the slightest. “Uh huh,” he said flatly.

Rimmer clicked his tongue and curled his lip, fixing Lister’s reflection with a contemptuous, dark look. “You wouldn’t understand, Listy,” he sneered, straightening up his tie and giving his hair a final firm comb through. “You’ve never put the slightest bit of effort in in your entire life. As for me, the only way is up! Up, up—”

“Yeah, yeah, Rimmer,” Lister cut him off, waving a hand dismissively before transitioning it into a mocking impersonation of Rimmer’s usual elaborate salute. “Up, up the ziggurat lickety split.” He punctuated that last word with a sharp slap to his forehead. “I know.”

Rimmer shot him a look, cold and hard, and then turned back one last time to check his appearance over in the mirror. The intercom sound rang out hollow and daunting into the bunkroom again and Lister saw Rimmer’s entire body stiffen immediately.

“Last call for the Astro-Navigation exam. Will all entrants please make their way to the teaching room. The exam is about to begin.”

Rimmer swallowed thickly and flexed his fingers and for all the affected confidence and false bravado he put on, Lister could still see the petrified, haunted look behind his eyes that belied his true feelings on the matter.

“Listen, man,” he said gently, sincerely, feeling almost sympathetic towards the man all of a sudden, fighting the urge to reach out and give him an encouraging pat on the arm. “Good luck.”

Rimmer bristled and his expression creased into a forced, stretched smile. “Luck, Lister?” he echoed, rocking anxiously on the balls of his feet. “I don’t need luck. I’ve got everything I need to succeed right up” – he brought a hand up to tap a finger quickly to his temple – “here.”

“Yeah,” came Lister’s doubtful, sarcastic response. “Good luck.”

He raised his eyebrows, fixing Rimmer with a look that said “Trust me, you’re gonna need all the luck you can get.”

Rimmer seemed to pick up on it, the plastered smile on his face faltering slightly as his adam’s apple bobbed nervously in his throat. “Right,” he said stiffly, tensely, hands balled tightly into fists at his sides. “Well, then. Goodbye, Lister.”

There was a maddened look in his eyes, something wild and desperate and beseeching, as though he was almost begging Lister to do something to stop him from walking out there to his inevitable doom even if it meant he had to resort to knocking him unconscious.

He stood there awkwardly, frozen in fear for another uncomfortably long number of seconds, rocking back and forth on his feet before he finally accepted that no miraculous divine intervention was coming and he was going to have to just go for it.

Picking up his pens and popping them neatly in his pocket, he gave Lister one final, incredibly rigid nod of acknowledgement and strode swiftly, almost robotically out of the room with such a grave look of dread on his face he might as well have been on death row.

Lister watched him go with an almost pitying look of gentle compassion pulling on his face. He didn’t like Rimmer – no-one did – but he couldn’t help but feel just a little bit bad for the guy. He had been putting himself through these exams since long before Lister had ever even met him, driven by something he couldn’t relate to, a burning urge to make something of himself no matter how long it took even when it was probably pointless.

Maybe he didn’t deserve the power that advancement up the career ladder would give him, maybe it would turn him into even more of an insufferably unbearable smeghead, but if just so that Lister wouldn’t have to endure another night of Rimmer drowning his sorrows and cursing the universe for being out to get him, he hoped this time that something would go different.

Whatever he had been hoping, whatever he had been expecting, an exam paper scrawled with nothing but ‘I am a fish’ had absolutely not been it.

Oh well. There was always next time.

#smegtober2023 #Red dwarf #After tomorrow I’ll switch to drawing for the rest of the month I think!

[lilxberry]

That’s My Girl - Scott Lang

Requested by: @bnhaxreaderquotes​

Could I have a Scott Lang x longterm girlfriend fic?? Where she’s like super strong but super dumb?? Like she’s Thor but human and female XD bonus if she lifts Thor’s hammer to get to something and everyone’s like 👀 and she’s like ??? And scots like 🥰 “that’s my gf”

I loved this idea, I just really didn’t want to use the word stupid so much lmao I mostly referred to reader as “slow” I believe but like, this whole thing is kinda cute asf so I’m happy with it. I hope you’re happy with it too

Warnings: Like, a singular swear. Sweet ass Scott. Upset!Reader? IDEK ANYMORE.

Words: 1,645

Pairings: Scott Lang x Reader (female reader) (super strong reader?)

Unplanned sequel; That’s My Wife

_______________

There’re many words to describe you.

Sweet? Yes. Kind? Yep. Selfless? Definitely. Beautiful? 100%. Strong? No doubt.

Stupid?

No, just…slow.

It’s not that you lacked intelligence, just, your brain worked at a different pace to that of others. Your fellow teammates could tell you that. Especially your partner Scott.

Scott, the sweetie pie that he is, certainly tries his best to help you catch up, to understand things that hadn’t really made sense to you at first. He’s no stranger to defending you either, no matter who or what it’s against.

Including your teammates.

“So, like C-3P0?”

Your head was tilted in confusion and your face was scrunched up as you tried desperately to understand what Tony was talking about.

You had walked into the lab finding all of the Avengers surrounding Tony rambling on about his newest creation, engineering some crazy new robotic tech. The others that had been subjected to his showcasing had explained to you that he’d called them in, forced them to watch the unveiling of Frankenstarks newest monster.

When you had asked why you hadn’t been called in, you’d missed the way Tony and the others tensed up. They knew that you wouldn’t understand a word Stark was speaking, as if the man were speaking some foreign language to you, but they didn’t want to explain that it was because you were ‘dense’.

The heaven-sent that is Scott stepped forward, a big, bright smile on his face as he entwined his fingers with your own as he came up with an excuse for the billionaire, saving Starks’ skin and sparing your feelings.

“He thought you’d find it boring. We all do to be honest honey but only so many of us are lucky enough to have an out,” was the sugar-coated explanation he conjured up on the spot.

You bought it easily, nodding in understanding with the sweetest of smiles before reaching up on your tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek. The others visibly relaxed, though you were oblivious as you stared up at Scott with a love-sick expression.

You had then gone on to ask what exactly it was that Tony had been working on which had led to a longwinded explanation with wild gestures and a heap of words you certainly didn’t understand whatsoever. Truth be told, he’d lost you within the first sentence.

Tony heaved a sigh. “No, not like C-3P0. The design is completely different and the level of A.I. being used it higher than that of C-3P0,” he spoke exasperatedly, a mocking tone taking over his tone near the end.

Feeling even more confused that what you had originally felt, you tried once more to understand.

“So…like Vision?”

Sam snorted as majority of the others smirked or tried to supress their smiles, Vision unsurprisingly seemed stoic as ever. Tony, on the other hand, had a look of genuine surprise. Almost looking proud.

“Uh, yeah, actually. You worked that out a lot faster than I thought you would honestly,” Tony said as an off-handed comment causing the others to still and Scott to tense slightly beside you while your brows furrowed.

“What’d you mean?”

Scott once again interjected to save the day, dragging your attention to him instead. “None of us really got it, that’s all. I’m pretty sure Thor still doesn’t, honestly.” He whispered the last part as he pointed his thumb towards the towering, blonde Asgardian.

Although your heart fluttered at the thought of Scott trying to be so sweet and kind to you, you couldn’t help the hurt that spread through you. You knew how the others viewed you, how they thought you were stupid, how you don’t understand anything.

Rather than show it affected you, you forced a smile on to your face and a tiny giggle to pass your lips.

Glancing at the others before allowing your eyes to fall back on to your boyfriend, you kept the feigned smile on your lips as you spoke. “I just remembered I gotta load of stuff to do. I’ll see you guys later.”

Scott flashed you his pearly whites in a wide smile before pecking your forehead and giving you a quiet “Sure babe.”

Walking backwards, you called out loudly to the group before exiting the room. “Have fun with Vision 2.0.”

Usually, when the team unintentionally commented on you in such a way, it would never really affect in such a negative way but today, it was just a series of failure after failure, your day all-round being bad.

From the comment in the lab, to the accidental breaking of a trainee’s arm due to you forgetting the strength you held over others, to Steve and Bucky taking the last of the coffee in the pot of the coffee machine which you had no idea how to work.

You had even bumped into someone in the hallway, the file you had been carrying falling to the ground and the papers inside scattering across the floor in disarray, leaving you to try reorganising the lot, taking a whole hour and a half.

It’s unfortunate that the person to be at the end of your disgruntled mood would be someone who you strongly considered a friend.

The Avengers who were currently residing at the compound were all scattered within the main living area and the open kitchen when you walked in, looking dishevelled as you frantically searched for a package that you had been notified had been delivered.

Walking through, you looked to see if the damn thing was atop any table you passed. Hell, you even lifted one of the chairs slightly to see if someone was cruel enough to hide the thing under it.

Although everyone had opted to watch you curiously, it was your sweet Scott to break the silence.

“Hey honey, whatcha’ doing there?” he asked curiously.

You grumbled out your answer, honestly ready for the day to be over with. “I’m looking for my delivery.”

Sam snorted before pointing towards the island in the centre of the kitchen. “You mean that massive package right there?”

Low and behold, there sat your package on top of the cool, marble surface, just with an added feature. You scowled, storming over towards the thing. You turned your fiery gaze to Thor, who was overall minding his own business chowing down on the entire contents of a Pop Tart box.

“WHY DID YOU PUT YOUR HAMMER ON MY FUCKING DELIVERY?!” You roared out, everyone’s eyes widened in complete and utter shock, Thor even jumped at the sudden loud booming. As he opened and reclosed his mouth repeatedly in a pathetic attempt to say something, anything, you continued.

“There could’ve been something really important in there! Or-or super fragile or something! What if you broke it?!”

During your explosion at the poor Asgardian, you happened to grasp the handle of Mjölnir and lift it with ease, causing everyone’s eyes to widen further and even a few mouths to drop open, gaping at the sight in front of them, Tony choking on his drink that he had been taking a sip of. Although Scott was just as shocked as those around him, he more so looked like a small child who’s completely wonder-struck, a twinkle in his eye.

“Never, and I mean NEVER, put your hammer on my damn things again. GOT IT?!” You shoved the hammer into Thors’ chest harshly, causing him to fumble to get a hold of it.

Once certain he had a tight grasp on the thing, you released your hold and spun on the spot, now becoming witness to everyone’s flabbergasted expressions. “WHAT?” you asked in exasperation and confusion, today completely tiring you out mentally and emotionally.

A pregnant silence befell you all before Scott suddenly jumped out of his seat, face ecstatic, arms raised high into the air above his head, hands balled up into fists, a loud and excited shout escaping him.

“YES!”

“You-you’re worthy?” Thor asked quietly to no one in particular.

Your brows furrowed deeply, now entirely confused and ever so slightly self-conscious. “What?”

“You’re worthy babe! Hell yeah! Up top!” he had made his way over towards you, now one arm raised with his hand now relaxed, waiting on you to give him a high five.

“I’m not following…”

“Only Thor could lift the hammer ‘cause he was the only one who’s worthy or whatever. It’s like impossible for anyone else to lift it,” Clint started to explain before being cut off by Natasha.

“Until you, that is. You’re the only other one whose been able to lift it.”

“Oh,” was all you said before shrugging your shoulders and waddling your way past Scott and towards your package on the kitchen island, picking it up and beginning to walk away.

Before you left though, you thought this to be the perfect opportunity to finally boast about something that you had been able to do that the others couldn’t. “Well, I may be stupid but at least I don’t put my back out by trying to lift a little hammer.”

You smirked as you continued to walk away, your destination being your room, package what would be heavy to most in your arms. Scott laughed loudly, something you could hear as you continued to retreat to your bedroom.

Meanwhile…

“HELL YEAH! THAT’S MY GIRL! WOO!” Scott began to follow after you, still shouting out every single word he spoke. “HONEY! THAT WAS LIKE THE COOLEST THING EVER! DID YOU SEE THEIR FACES?! Oh man, I can’t wait to tell Cass. SHE’S GONNA FREAK!”

The Avengers were still suck in their retrieves of shock, all unmoving, all trying to process the newfound information that you could lift the hammer.

Thor seemed to be taking it the worst, looking ever so slightly frightened, gulping loudly.

“I believe I have new matters to discuss with my father...”

_______________

.

.

.

.

.

I love any Paul Rudd character just as much as him

I even have a t-shirt with his beautiful ass face on lmao

If you want to be added to a taglist lemme know

Anywho, I hope you enjoy

As always, constructive criticism and requests are welcomed and greatly appreciated :D

_______________

Marvel taglist:

@thanossexual

#scott lang #scott lang x #scott lang x reader #x reader #x fem #x fem!reader #x female reader #x fem reader #avengers x fem!reader #antman #ant man #ant man x #ant man x reader #fluff #mjolnir #thors hammer #marvel #marvel fic #marvel fanfiction #marvel fluff #mcu #mcu fic #mcu fanfiction #Avengers #The Avengers

[goldentournesol]

Christmas Miracles

(Spencer Reid x fem!Reader)

The one where Spencer and Reader finally get pregnant after 2 years of trying and failing.

Length: 3.2k

A/N: TW pregnancy, thank you for requesting this anon, so sorry this is late, i know you asked for fluff but i added a touch of angst too because: hello, have you met me? also please accept my feeble attempt at a Christmas fic. i sure do hope no one goes through my search history now haha, anyway ENJOY! (sorry if this is crappy) It is officially Christmas where I live so MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYBODY!

masterlist

The click clack of her heels against the tiled floor of the hospital almost seemed too loud. She felt as though her presence was too much, but she had promised Kristy she’d be there. It almost felt unreal. Here she was, celebrating the birth of yet another Simmons baby when not a single Reid had been conceived. It might have been selfish of her to have such thoughts, but she couldn’t help it. Not when the one thing she and her husband had been praying for day and night came so easily to everyone but them.

It’s been two years since their wedding and for two years she’d felt nothing but the impending feeling of failure hanging around her shoulders. All she wanted was to give Spencer what he deserved, she knew how much he wanted kids. He didn’t even have to say it, it was evident in the way he treated Henry, Michael, and all the other children of the BAU. 

She’d left her job as soon as Spencer texted her and said she’d meet them at the hospital. She took a deep breath before locating the familiar faces of the BAU in the waiting room.

“Hey!” JJ smiled, racing to hug her first.

“Hi, any news?” Y/N asked, pulling away from the hug and looking for her husband among the faces, smiling in recognition. She spotted him in a chair, adorning a hoodie that was much too large for him with “Washington DC” printed in bold letters across the front.

“No, not yet.” Spencer reached his hand out to her and she stepped towards him, smiling as he stood to embrace her. She pulled back once again and looked at his hoodie in amusement.

“Do I want to know what happened?” She giggled, gesturing towards his outfit. He laughed bashfully.

“I, um, had an...incident with the sprinklers at the park.” She watched as his cheeks turned an adorable shade of pink. She laughed and nodded.

“Alright then.” She took a seat beside him and forced the lump in her throat to break itself apart. But Spencer knew how she felt, of course he knew. Which is why he offered both his hand and shoulder to her as they waited. She gladly accepted both, wishing the heaviness in her chest would dissipate.

About a half hour later, Matt emerged from one of the rooms, announcing the birth of his baby girl. Everyone swarmed around him to give him celebratory hugs, Y/N felt as though someone had to unglue her from her seat. She smiled as wide as her face would allow and hugged him.

“Congratulations!” She exclaimed, trying her hardest not to make it sound forced.

“Thank you, thank you all.” He said, inviting them all into the room, where the wailing  of a newborn baby could be heard. To many it could sound annoying, but Y/N was almost desperate to hear it. Before entering, Spencer grabbed her hand gently and stopped them in their tracks, reaching out to cradle both her hands in his.

“You okay? We can leave now if you want, just say you had an emergency at work or something.” He said quietly to her, knowing how it would make her feel if she were to see this baby right now. He never wanted to push her too far. He could see the uncertainty swimming around in her irises, but his wife was never one to back down from anything she’d promised someone else.

“I’ll be fine, Spence. I promised Kristy.” She whispered and he nodded, although he felt something was off in the pit of his stomach. He brushed it off as she pulled him into the room after her. Her eyes landed on Kristy cradling her baby girl and her heart melted at the sight.

“Oh, she’s beautiful, Kristy.” Y/N cooed, momentarily forgetting about the heaviness in her chest as the baby’s tiny eyes curiously wandered over to her.

“Thank you, Y/N. Would you like to hold her first?” Kristy smiled tiredly and everyone’s gaze fell onto Y/N, an unreadable tension silently floating in the room.

“I-I’d be honored.” She let go of Spencer who watched as his wife carefully scooped up the baby into her arms. His heart swallowed his chest from its swelling. He could barely control the softness in his gaze before Matt came up next to him and grabbed his shoulder, making him smile. The way she carried the baby with so much compassion was a sure sign for Spencer, this woman was meant to be a mother. The mother of his children.

Y/N grinned with slight tears in her eyes as she stared at the baby in her arms, “Hi, baby girl. You’re so beautiful.” She cooed softly as she swayed them slowly from side to side. The baby quieted down in her arms and it was a wonderful sight to see. Spencer’s heart was surely beating its last beats.

“Oh, she loves you already.” Emily said from the far side of the room. The comfortable weight of the baby in her arms had suddenly turned into 7.8 pounds of complete and utter dread. She had allowed herself to think that it was her own child for a split second. 

What a huge mistake. 

A tear escaped Y/N’s eye as she realized she’d have to part with this beautiful gift of life. She forced a smile and handed her back to her mother carefully. No one noticed the shift in Y/N’s mood, too enthralled by the baby, except Spencer, of course. She quickly wiped away the stay tear as she took her place next to Spencer, who had tried to take her hand in his, but she pulled away just in time. He breathed a heavy sigh as she silently fell apart right next to him.

After a few moments of failing to keep herself from falling apart in front of the team, she tugged on his sleeve harshly and he knew he’d have to excuse them. So he did, they said their farewells and were on their way to her car. She handed him the keys silently and avoided his gaze until they were in the car together.

“Sweetheart…” Spencer started, reaching out to caress any part of her, only wanting to provide a semblance of comfort.

“Please--please, don’t, Spencer.” She whimpered softly as she shrunk away from him and into the passenger seat, the tears falling freely now. Spencer frowned deeply and began driving them home in silence.

She wondered if she’d ever have the opportunity to be in Kristy’s shoes. All she wanted, as of right now, was to be a mother. The universe had been so, so unkind to them both throughout their lives. God knows Spencer’s been through hell and back more times than they can count. Despite all that though, Spencer was truly the best support system she could ask for. He never pushed her too far, he always understood her, never made her feel bad for not being able to get pregnant. But that didn’t take away from the way she felt. The way she felt like she was failing Spencer. The one thing her body was made for, and she couldn’t do it. 

Spencer walked them both up to their apartment and put on the kettle to make some tea as she disappeared into their bedroom, probably to take a shower. For months and months, they’d been trying, and nothing seemed to work. It was taking a toll on Y/N and he couldn’t help but feel useless.

It went on this way for about a month, although Spencer and Y/N were getting much better about talking about it, as well as beginning to explore other options. Spencer kept convincing Y/N to get out of the house more, he insisted that perhaps time apart and engagement of individual activities would strengthen their relationship. So Penelope suggested a girls night in at least once a week. They would order junk food, watch sappy movies, and sometimes cry about their lives.

One night, all the women and spouses of the BAU were at Penelope’s, watching a movie and munching on crunchy snacks. Y/N suddenly sat up straight and gasped, pausing the movie quickly from the remote.

“What is it?” Tara asked, looking over at Y/N on the couch.

“What day is it?” She asked, slightly panicked.

“It’s...Saturday?” Emily replied.

“No, no! What day of the month?” She exclaimed, searching for her phone in between the couch seats.

“It’s the 12th, why? Is it someone’s birthday?” Penelope asked, confusion settling in.

“The 12th?!” Y/N exclaimed in shock.

“Y/N, what’s on the 12th?” JJ asked impatiently.

“I’m late! I’m 2 weeks late. Let me check first.” Y/N pulled up her phone and checked her period tracking app. The women all glanced at each other excitedly, “I’m late…”

“OKAY! Stay here, do not move. JJ and I will go get you a bunch of tests! Don’t move!” Penelope exclaimed, rushing up to put on a coat over her pajamas and slip on some shoes.

Y/N stood and began to wring her hands nervously.

“What’s wrong, isn’t this great news?” Kristy asked, her face showing concern.

“Yes! Yes, of course. Just...what if it’s n-not real, what if it’s negative? I-I don’t think I can handle that again.” Y/N said as her eyes filled with tears. Her heart seemed to have stilled in her chest and her throat began closing up in response to her anxiety.

“Even if that happens, we’re right here. We’ll be supporting you through it all.” Tara said, standing and hugging her tightly. The second she was in her arms, she began sobbing. The slightest comfort brought waves of fear and anxiety. Emily and Kristy frowned and felt their chests pull at the sight of her being so upset. Tara smoothed down her hair lovingly and convinced her to have a seat until Pen and JJ returned.

A few moments later, they came bursting through the door, “Alright, did you drink enough liquids, do you have to pee?” JJ asked, unpacking and handing her the tests.

“Umm, I don’t know but I’ve been peeing a lot anyway.” Y/N replied and JJ nodded.

“Okay, that’s a good sign.” Kristy nodded encouragingly.

Y/N moved to the bathroom and took the tests. She opened the door slightly and looked towards Penelope, “Can you come in? I-I’m too scared to look at it alone.”

“Of course.” She stepped in and Y/N left the door open for anyone else to come in. Soon they all gathered in or outside of the bathroom. Y/N sat on the closed toilet and wrung her hands nervously, a habit she’d picked up from Spencer. Penelope waited the appropriate amount of time and looked at the tests that were face down on the counter. She looked towards Y/N for approval and she nodded, holding her breath. She wasn’t a profiler but she was trying to read every single microexpression that crossed Penelope’s features. The room was heavy with anticipation as they all watched Penelope look at the tests.

Soon enough, her face broke out into a large grin, “Guess we’re getting a baby genius!” She exclaimed and everyone cheered loudly in response. 

Y/N was frozen in shock on the toilet as everyone rushed to embrace her, “W-what?” She uttered in disbelief, tears clouding her vision quickly.

“They’re all positive! A baby Reid is in the oven!” Emily cheered, showing her the tests. She put a hand to her mouth to slow down the sobs escaping her. She hugged them all tightly and she knew, she just knew that this happened thanks to the sheer powerful energy of all the women by her side. The thought gave her goosebumps.

“Oh my God! I have to tell Spencer!” Y/N shouted in the midst of all her tears, just imagining the pure joy that would be on her husband’s face as he learned the news.

“If you leave now, you’ll make it before he gets home from Derek’s.” JJ said, checking her watch. Y/N nodded and raced out with the tests, putting on her shoes quickly.

“I love you all so much! Bye!” She yelled into the room before darting out the door.

She stopped by the grocery store to pick up some buns, an empty box, and a pair of the cutest baby sneakers she could find. As soon as she got home, she filled the box with the sneakers and the positive tests. She also placed a single bun in the oven and waited for Spencer to come home.

“Y/N, you here already? I saw the car parked downstairs--is everything oka--” he cut himself off as he found her in the kitchen holding something behind her back. His eyebrows raised suspiciously as he eyed her, “What’s going on? What are you up to?” He couldn’t resist smiling at her smile, the previous anxieties melting away.

“Check the oven, baby.” She said, leaning against the counter across from it. His brows furrowed even more as he peeked inside.

“I don’t get it. The oven’s not hot and this is likely a store-bought bun.” Spencer Reid, despite being a certified genius, he could be extremely oblivious at times.

“Yes, and where is it placed?” Y/N hinted.

“In the oven?” Spencer reached in and grabbed the bun. He turned around to face her, the bun in his hands.

“Yes, exactly! It’s a bun in the oven.” She laughed, giving up. She watched as his face lit up in realization.

“Wait...what?” Spencer said softly in disbelief, placing the bun down on the counter and taking a few steps towards her.

She grinned and pulled out the box from behind her and opened it up in front of him. He took it from her and inspected the test and the shoes with a dropped jaw, “W-we...you’re--” He laughed a wet laugh and placed his hands on her belly, “We’re gonna have a baby?” His voice cracked, tears clouding his eyes quickly.

“We’re gonna have a baby.” She confirmed and he pulled her into possibly the tightest hug she’d ever received from him. His shoulders began shaking in her arms and soon they were sobbing messes in front of each other. She rested her head on his chest and he kissed it over and over again until they both calmed down.

“I’m gonna be a father.” He finally said, smiling down at her with a dopey, lovesick smile.

She nodded, returning the smile, “The best father. Now come on, let’s have a seat and start planning.” She giggled, pulling him out of the kitchen and to the couch.

“You know, it’s thought that the saying bun in the oven originated in 1951.” He began explaining and she suddenly burst into a fit of fond giggles, hoping their child would get his intelligence and definitely his good looks.

At exactly 10 weeks, Spencer insisted that she get her first ultrasound. She didn’t mind, she just wanted him to be there, and with his hectic schedule, it was hard to find a perfect time to go. But alas, they figured it out and Spencer was practically bouncing on his feet in excitement in the waiting room. Y/N placed a calming hand on his knee and smiled reassuringly. They took turns calming each other down. Even though Spencer had read every book about parenting and children within reach, he still felt so unprepared as a first time parent.

“Mr. and Mrs. Reid? The doctor is ready for you now.” A nurse with a clipboard announced, making Spencer shoot up out of his seat and helped his wife out of hers.

Soon, they made it into the office and before she knew it the doctor had already spread the icy cold gel on Y/N’s growing belly. A steady, repetitive noise could be heard throughout the room, bouncing off the walls. It sounded like an underwater heartbeat with a tad of something sloshing around.

“Oh, do we hear that? That’s the sound of the baby’s heart-Oh! What do we have here?” The doctor announced as she maneuvered her way on top of her belly.

“What is it?” Spencer anxiously asked, peering over at the screen.

“It seems as though there are two amniotic sacs as well as two healthy heartbeats! Congratulations, you’re having twins!” The doctor exclaimed happily. The couple stared at each other in an absolute stunned daze.

“Twins?” Y/N had to make sure she was hearing it correctly.

“Yes, a pair of healthy twins.” The doctor confirmed.

“That’s...th-that’s only a 4% chance. This is amazing!” Spencer uttered, hugging her tightly.

Over the course of the next six months, Spencer and Y/N have been living on the absolute tips of their toes. Y/N was extremely clingy at times and Spencer was terrified of leaving her, should he be called in for a case. As the twins’ due date nears, Spencer turns into a shell of himself and instead a home for festering anxiety and fear. He’s terrified something might go wrong. Whereas Y/N could not wait for the babies to be out of her! The day couldn’t come sooner.

Thankfully, serial killers all over the country had decided to take a break for Christmas time. Spencer, Y/N, and her belly were invited to every gathering leading up to Christmas eve. She wished she wouldn’t have to waddle along for much longer.

As the two sat in peaceful silence, listening to instrumental versions of their favorite Christmas music and munching on gingerbread men, something felt off.

“Uhhh, Spence?”

“What is it, sweetheart?” Spencer asked, sitting up, failing to notice the large pool of liquid now under his wife soaking the couch.

“My water just broke.” She announced, feeling her breath quicken.

“Oh-OH!” Spencer shot up from the couch and quickly grabbed the hospital go bag that’s been living by the door for the past few weeks. He put on a pair of shoes for her and carefully helped her off the couch.

“Spencer, it’s Christmas eve, we’ll never find a place in the hospital!” Y/N panicked slightly as she waddled to the door, trying to control her breathing.

“Shh, baby don’t worry about that right now. I just need you to do the breathing exercises we practiced so much, okay?” He said calmly, doing her breathing exercises, prompting her to imitate him. He surprised her by being so calm and composed all the way to the hospital then she remembered he’d once told her that he finds he does his best work under intense pressure.

20 grueling hours later, two beautiful baby girl Reids were born into this world on Christmas day. It truly was a Christmas miracle. The team filed in on Christmas day to find one exhausted Spencer standing and an even more exhausted Y/N on the bed, each cradling a baby girl of their own.

“Oh my, oh, they’re so beautiful.” Penelope gushed, her and JJ leaning over Y/N’s bed to peer at one of the girls. Luke, Tara, and Emily walked towards Spencer, who could not stop grinning. 

Seriously, his face should have been split in half at this point from how much he’d been smiling. There was no one else in this world he’d rather have a child with, and he was blessed with not one, but two enchanting Christmas miracles who will surely steal his heart and never return it, and he’ll be more than okay with that.

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #Spencer Reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid masterlist #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds fic #cm #mgg #tw pregnancy #christmas fic #bau christmas

[xhanisai]

"Let me ring your voice, I'm still approaching from here."

AO3 / FFN

Pairing - Adrinette Prompt - 'Candy'

Summary:

'She mentioned a kiss before flying off...could she have possibly...?'

And it was then, he could no longer unsee the revelations that finally pieced itself together in his mind, consequently causing his heart to trip and stumble over too many beats whilst the apples of his cheeks took on a subtle red hue which only deepened in colour as he continued to monitor his beloved friend.

Ohoho- scratch that.

His beloved Lady.

It was her.

Definitely her.

He has finally found her!

And this time, he was not letting go.

Absolutely not.

Especially when she definitely had something to do with the sweetness that tinged his lips like a tease and left him starving for more of that sugar.

(Or, identity reveal fic where Adrien figures it out from the candy apple taste left on his lips after the fight with Le Dislocoeur)

~(x)~ . . .

 Adrien sucked in his bottom lip out of bitterness for the umpteenth time, both in sheer frustration from his inability to confess to Ladybug today and utter failure to remember a thing from the battle since he got hit by Le Dislocœur's arrow. One second he instinctively crashed his Lady's form against his chest to protect her from the attack, the next he found himself pinning the heroine on the ground in a daze and was promptly thrown at the Akuma with little to no warning.  He planned and rehearsed his confession millions and millions of times- his grumpy kwami could attest to that! It took him everything to smoothly bring the love of his life within his grasps, his heart pummelling his chest in a frenzy and to attempt to say those three special words that took a hold of his very nature since the very day they defeated Cœur de Pierre.  Je t'aime, Ladybug.  But nope.   What was expected of the host of bad luck and destruction other than being used as a human pinball and tossed around without a beat at villains? He was more than a frisbee dammit!  .  What a pisstake.  .  And the cherry on top that completed the three-tiered cake of confusion, curiosity and annoyance?  The foreign, slick, sweetness that stained his lips; an explosion of sugar and honey that danced on his tongue and left his mouth tingling in a welcoming and fuzzy manner.  As if he's just taken a generous bite out of the delectable heart-shaped candy apples that the adorable Marinette has given out to the class with that beautiful, rosy smile of hers (which he wasn't able to get his hands on due to circumstances- he's talking about the apples, not Marinette's lips...of course...maybe).  The treats did look absolutely delicious and sweet...  And if he were to imagine how they'd taste...they'd taste just like his glace lips right now. His lips which were still branded with sugar and glowing with warmth...  He narrowed his eyes in thoughts, ransacking his brain anew for any clues during the time when he was controlled by Le Dislocœur after taking the projectile to the back. Though, the only prominent aspect that stood out the most was feelings of unadulterated fervour and Ladybug's oddly flustered behaviour after the fight.  .  A mannerism that was dangerously identical to the most kindhearted girl in his class with talent and creativity that would make even professionals foam at the mouth for an ounce of her skills.  A shyness that never failed to challenge and encourage him to come closer and smash through the silly wall between them both, the boy desperate to grasp her attention whenever possible.  .  He eyed Marinette again carefully, still observing from the distance as she conversed with Alya, seemingly frustrated herself and waving around a candy apple in hand. Her baby blues troubled, her brows furrowed and her sakura lips twisted into a charming pout whilst the duo was sat on the park bench. He wondered what she was so upset about, wanting nothing more than to waltz over and nuzzle his cheek against her silky hair to cheer her up-  Suddenly,  Clarity started to shine through the fog within his brain the minute Marinette took a miffed bite from the treat which in turn had him nibbling his bottom lip unconsciously again.  'She mentioned a kiss before flying off...could she have possibly...?'  And it was then, he could no longer unsee the revelations that finally pieced itself together in his mind, consequently causing his heart to trip and stumble over too many beats whilst the apples of his cheeks took on a subtle red hue which only deepened in colour as he continued to monitor his beloved friend.  Ohoho- scratch that.  His beloved Lady.  It was her.  Definitely her.  He has finally found her!  And this time, he was not letting go.  Absolutely not.  Especially when she definitely had something to do with the sweetness that tinged his lips like a tease and left him starving for more of that sugar. An outrageous smirk adorned Adrien's model face, its mischievousness on par with his alter-ego's and he finally made way towards his princesse with his newly found confidence.

~(x)~

 "Ugh...this is such a disaster...A DISASTER." Marinette groaned out for the hundredth time, gaining another fond eye-roll from her best friend and a pat on the head and then shoved her mouth back on the candy apple. What was once a pleasant snack was now like ashes on her tongue as she internally recalled the whole day.  "Marinette, it's okay- really. But what I don't understand is how today's attempt is getting an even worse reaction from you compared to all the other times you tried. You only forgot to sign the card." Of course, Alya was not in the know considering that the major thing affecting Dupain-Cheng currently had to do with her secret life. So, she simply whined even louder, narrowing her eyes at Alya's giggles and her mind went back to what transpired no more than a few hours ago.  Her cheeks bloomed with rosiness once more, her traitorous heart beating way too fast for her liking over the event and she pooched her lips against the sweet.   It was bad enough that her first, precious kiss was with her silly, goofy (yet loveable) partner instead of her wonderful, sweet, kind Adrien but what was worse was that she enjoyed the liplock.  Very, very much.  She didn't expect to meet velvet and silk the second she pulled Chat Noir into her lips, her body instantly relaxing at the pleasurable softness and warmth and her mind infiltrated by the thoughts of him. She wasn't expecting the fresh mintiness that overtook her senses and she certainly wasn't expecting him to kiss back.  All thoughts of the Akuma and the battle momentarily ceased when he literally melted against her, his body relaxed and pinning her down with even more of his weight in the most delicious way possible. He only tilted his head to a slight angle and suddenly her breath was taken away, her heart going haywire and berserk.  But it got so much better.  His lips parted against hers again, and again, and again.  The intensity and outright heat of the action caused her to whimper against his mouth which in turn caused him to capture her bottom lip and suck.  And thankfully, he pulled away before she turned into a mewling mess.

 "Hey, Marinette,"

 Said girl jolted out of her daydreams, cheeks blossoming with a bright red and knuckles whitening from the tight grip on her sweet. The sight of sparkling emeralds beaming down at her filled her blood with adrenaline, her heart pounding against her ribcage to the point where she felt like she was going to pass out.  "He-Hey..." Marinette managed to breathe out, wondering why Alya wasn't right there with her as a buffer only to see the treacherous teen skip away with a manic grin and thumbs up.  'Shit. What the hell am I supposed to do!?' The raven-haired girl peered back at her blond friend, praying silently for him to initiate the next sentence for what ever potential conversation they were going to have just so she didn't butcher said potential with her standardised word soup.  She peeped at him, sky blues twinkling under her dark fringe pleadingly.  "Do you have any more of those apples, if you don't mind me asking?" Adrien went straight to the point, leaning down closer to Marinette with one hand against the back of the bench for support. The girl missed the devilish gleam that glittered within his eyes for a second, caught up within her thoughts again.  'Oh...he just came for the apple, how nice...' She almost slumped with disappointment, cursing herself for having her hopes high regarding the valentine she wrote for him and thinking for a split moment that he figured out that it was written by her. Regardless, she exhaled quietly and tuned back to the conversation.  "So-Sorry...I'm eating the last one..." The treat reflected back her awkward expression and guilty smile, the teen beating herself up inside for not even thinking of saving one for him. She expected a crumpled face from him, maybe even his eyes dimming from discontent or even a soft "oh...".  However, this time she caught the playfulness that rested on his face, her brows creasing whilst his smile simply widened in a manner that rang with familiarity. She couldn't help but feel like she's just walked in on a trap.  And there was no way out.  Oh, dear.  "That's a shame...they looked really nice and I didn't get a chance to try one..." Guilt just piled on top of her one after another like giant weights, the urge to wail out "I'm sorry-yyyyyyy!!!" and beg for his forgiveness was immense- yet the way he watched her kept her glued on the spot. His golden lashes fluttered and his lips parted smoothly for his next question. "Is it alright if we share the one you're having instead?"  .  Boom.  .  There goes her heart.  .  Marinette.exe has stopped working, please leave a message after her iconic "THIS IS A DISASTER!!!".  .  Unable to speak anymore (or even breathe), Marinette managed a quick nod, trembling hands gesturing the sweet towards the pleased model. Just as she thought that this can't get any crazier, Adrien rested his free hand upon hers and guided the apple to his lips.  No mercy at all.  His gleaming eyes never left hers, mouth taking a bite out of the fruit all the while watching her as if she was a little mouse trapped in between a cat's pair of paws with nowhere to run. Her heart continued to throb and her cheeks continued to burn under his gaze, throughout the whole time he chewed and then swiftly swallowed. It was as if she was the apple herself and Adrien was devouring her.  .

 "Delicious and sweet...just like you My Lady,"

 His smirk was borderline scandalous, the Chat Noir within him oozing out without any restraints. He ate up her gawking face, casually using his thumb to gather up the sugary syrup residue that was left on her lips and popped the offending digit into his mouth, soaking up the way her complexion practically exploded with a strawberry hue.  Dieu, he wanted to just kiss her right there and then.

 "Ch-Ch-Chat Noir!?" Marinette spluttered, eyes widening comically and then switching into a fierce glare when the older of the two chuckled darkly. He almost wanted to kiss the air between them as a tease just to rile her up even further.  "The one and only, Buguinette~"  "But how!?"  "Well, after cheekily taking away my first kiss, you left behind evidence on my lips..." Deciding to continue riding the high and ignore the consequences that were sure to come for his behaviour, Adrien placed his knee between her legs and leaned even closer towards Marinette till he was virtually towering over her with his shit-eating, impish grin. He eyed her mouth shamelessly, emeralds fired up with unmitigated want and he was loving the way his Lady was discombobulated before him.

"...So what's my prize~?" .

 Sometimes, curiosity may kill the cat.  This time?  Ohohoh, this time?  This one got that sweet, sweet, satisfaction.  Poor Marinette...

. . . ~(x)~

A/N: I can't believe I wrote a fic where Adrien isn't trying to take Marinette to bed. Okay, he just didn't say anything about it but we all know that little shit was thinking of it.  Now, feed me, your KING, C O M M E N T S.

#my writing #my fanfiction #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug and chat noir #adrinette #adrienette #identity reveal #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #lmao i almost wrote adrien dupain cheng ahahaah #season one divergent #dark cupid #le dislocoeur #romance #comedy #adrien being a little shit once again #alya cesaire

[riddlecrux]

Rosehall

Day 1 of Elriel Month is here! Summary: He knew that Rhysand's orders weren't fickle nor laced with lies, yet he couldn't phantom how his brother turned on him. How he, of all the people, couldn't understand how badly he wanted to be happy.

You can also read it on ao3!

They didn't talk.

No shy glances, no accidental touches while passing each other through the corridor, no warm smiles behind the rim of a wine glass. Even the silence in which he was sitting was unbearable, so different than the one that carried comfort and jasmine scent that always made him content, whole, at ease. Now, sitting alone on the fine chair in the House of Wind he was barely breathing. He was suffocating with loneliness, heavier than the one that crawled through his bones in that dark cell from his childhood. A real pain exploded behind his closed eyelids.

The night air pricked on his face as he tried not to think, not to feel. It was as if the gaping hole in his chest was a thing of his own shadows - swirling inside, eating him out and leaving only shreds of his broken emotions. He tried. He tried so desperately not to fall for her. For yet another unattainable person that was next to him just to mock his misfortune. It was something completely wrong. How one can take so many failures and still delude himself that maybe this time the ending would be different.

He was such a damned fool.

Azriel opened his eyes as a sharp pang in his chest enveloped him in another wave of utter bitterness and helplessness. The thing with Elain was something he hadn't expected - she came into his life wielding a fork and suddenly he could see clearer than ever before in his life. How sun caught in her golden-brown hair and how the freckles on her left cheek created a small triangle. And the way all that loveliness faded away when she was stripped of her own free will - and how he failed her at that moment. The arrow to his chest didn't hurt as much as her screams. The terror of them was still haunting him during long nights of insomnia and half slept nights.

And there was that companionship they formed. Based on silence and gardens. Teas full of leaves and sticky fruit floating on its surface. Elain always preferred her to drink sweet, even if her nose scrunched each time she sipped from a porcelain teacup - pale pinky held in the air as if she was still a lady in a room full of liars and men trying to woo her. Maybe during those moments of tranquility between them, he started to appreciate her gentleness even more.

Their meetings slowly but surely transformed into nights full of sleeplessness and sore throats - silence turned into constant chatter about everything and nothing. The first time he heard her giggle his world turned upside down. In that particular moment she was all he saw, in all her golden glory and chocolate smear on her chin - so warm and bright, so out of his reach. A secret. His secret, a memory to be locked inside his mind's labyrinth.

Sometimes he wished that both of them stopped before they had even begun their… relationship. Because maybe if he possessed more self strength and if he was less selfish, he would have protested when Elain touched his hand while they were resting in the garden. Or when he caressed her cheek while trying to get rid of the soil splattered there. Whenever they touched Azriel felt as if he was healing. These small palms that traced ridiculous figures on his scarred hands brought him comfort no one else did. A touch so tender that he wanted to break in halves only for her to mend him again. She was nothing like him and at the same time so familiar, so understanding. When she looked at him with her brown eyes full of terrors and beauty, he knew that she could see his soul. Every ugly part of him. And she never averted her stare, never flinched from his touch - she wholeheartedly accepted him.

Sighing out loud his wings twitched behind him when his eyes darkened once again. He knew that Rhysand's orders weren't fickle nor laced with lies, yet he couldn't phantom how his brother turned on him. How he, of all the people, couldn't understand how badly he wanted to be happy.

"Long night?" He snapped his neck at the voice and inwardly relaxed seeing cold silver eyes staring at him without fear.

"I suppose so," shrugging his shoulders he turned back toward the city, one hand still on the glass of strong alcohol he was pouring into himself for hours. A screech of a moving chair resonated next to him and with a slow exhale he sipped his drink.

"Not the fire this time," Nesta huffed and he saw in his peripheral vision that she poured herself a decent shot as well. "Both of you are the same," a small smile ghosted on her lips before she drank the brownish liquid in one go.

"Me and who?" He knew playing stupid wouldn't work on her but he was so tired. He had already lost, so Nesta seeing him at his worst would be nothing in comparison to the thunder inside his mind. The oldest Archeron sister let out a dry chuckle which indicated that she was aware of his silly attempt of deflection.

"Elain," her name awakened something inside him. Like a golden tether holding him upwards, longing after the female that brought up such emotions from him. "She used to glow these days, you know," he saw her playing with the rim of the goblet. Long finger stopping suddenly as if the glass burned her. "I know what happiness looks on her, and whenever both of you interacted or spent time together she was always… so bright. So alive," his heart thumped a few times before it gave him a painful tug. "The moment you saved her life was the first time I had wished that you were her mate," the wound opened again, a small sound escaped his mouth before he slumped forward. "But fate isn't so merciful. Yet, Elain made her own way in this life. I saw how she escaped that empty shell she used to be and how she learned to breathe again… with you ," Azriel wanted her to stop. To let go of this torment she was exposing him to.

"I can't listen to this," he stood up, his wings stretching to its whole span. "You know it's impossible," his bitter laugh echoed in the interior. "We both know that it doesn't matter if I have feelings for her," he was ready to fly away when Nesta's hand caught his elbow. Silver eyes shone in the darkness of the night with ancient power.

"It's her choice," she whispered. "She doesn't want her mate, she has never wanted that bond," her grip loosened for a bit and he was tempted to run away but her expression held him in one place. "But she wants you. She chose you. And you know it because I saw how you look at her, how both of you glance at each other," she pinched him when he was composing himself from snapping at her. "Ask her. Ask her about what she wants. Take her to the place where it's just both of you, so no one can interfere," her nod was final and with it, she slowly turned around and vanished upstairs. His jaw hurt from the force he was clenching his teeth. Nesta's words were a poison that circulated through his bloodstream.

Could he have that conversation?

Could they possibly be together?

The night air was cold against his burning skin when he shot up in the sky, wings outstretched and tense.

*

He landed on her balcony.

The beige curtains were dancing in the air, metal dreamcatcher swaying on the wisps with a soft melody. There were plants and flowers scattered around the balustrade and his shadows skittered around them, leaping into petals and leaves before returning to his form. He stopped beside the wooden table to see half-finished tea and some papers - a few of them with drawings of different gardens, trees, and notes about the seeds. However, what caught his attention was a stash of papers with Elain's handwriting. All of them were thrown around the surface with drops of tea marking some of them. There were letters forming sentences, he could pinpoint some of them, ones that weren't completely crossed out in the pale moonlight. He was about to touch one scroll with his name on it when his shadows whirled around him with a soft warning.

"Spying on me?" The sweet scent of jasmine and honey embraced his person as his hazel eyes blinked at the sight in front of him. Elain was in a white nightgown, tiny ribbons on her freckled shoulders were something he didn't know he needed to see in his life. Her loose hair was curling at its edges as the tresses touched her middle. She was watching him, big brown eyes stoic and unnerving.

"No," he breathed and her smell attacked his senses, driving him crazy. She crossed her arms under her breasts and padded towards him. Her feet stopped next to him and with a lazy movement, she gathered her papers without glancing at him. He could see her nape, soft and pale and so inviting as she leaned across the table. His fingers curled into fists when her presence burned his self-resilience.

"Do you need me for something?" She inquired letters in her grip and a slight frown on her perfect face.

"Actually," his shoulder tensed when she shot him a questioning glance. "Yes, I need you," he left it there. A pause and weight of his words, waiting for the judgment and perhaps hatred. But it never came as Elain silently turned to him, her lips parted and a soundless sigh ghosting in the air between them. She peered at him, irises wide and somewhat gentle before she touched his biceps and he was ready to be undone.

"We should talk," her breath tickled his skin as he nodded without thinking twice. "Here?" Her question woke him up and trying not to scare her, he offered his scarred palm while stretching out his wings.

"There's a place I want to show you," his words echoed in the dead of night and as her small fingers wrapped around his hand he could finally breathe again.

*

When they arrived the moon was high in the sky, its light reflecting on the waters of a marble fountain in front of the manor. He exhaled letting Elain down as she politely exchanged her thanks. She pried her hair from the face and with newfound excitement, she whirled around facing him with a bright smile.

"I dreamed about this place," her voice was warm and all he wanted was to touch her to make sure she was standing there under the moonlight. "The gardens were something I have wanted to see," she pointed a finger in the direction of a greenhouse and a patch of flowers and vines.

"Dream or a vision?" He knew he shouldn't test his luck, yet deep down inside he felt as if he had already known the answer. As if it was imprinted inside his heart for a long time.

"Vision," she answered, walking towards the field of roses. Her palm touched some petals while her hair tumbled down towards the ground. "I saw you here," her digits closed around the stem with silent amusement. "You were happy," she turned around and looked straight at him.

"This is Rosehall," the lump in his throat made it difficult for him to speak. It was like a fever dream of his, having her here in the fields of flowers and so painstakingly real.

"Very suitable," she smiled and turned once again stepping onto the soft grass. "It's a pretty name," he heard her sitting on the ground and when he glanced up he saw her lying flat on the earth. Her knees were slightly angled but her face was upwards as if she was watching stars. Azriel staggered towards her, breathing fresh air as he finally stood up on her right.

"I haven't thought about its name for years," he slowly sat and looked at her profile. She was gazing at the sky with a small smile. Happiness looked beautiful on her, it made her glow.

"There's so much...space," she breathed and her chest moved in a slight erratic manner. "You can almost taste freedom here," Elain blinked as she turned onto her side. She faced him and he thought that there was never a time in his life when he felt so many emotions at once.

"I'm sorry," the edges of him crumbled as his eyes started to burn. He didn't mean to hurt her, not in the slightest. He was just too… selfish. And she was everything he had ever dreamed about, an embodiment of home, of a warmth he so desperately searched for. "It wasn't a mistake," he whispered as her hand fell upon his abdomen. Always trusting, always inviting.

"Then what? A distraction?" She mused as her body leaned forward and she was mirroring his position. "I will never know as long as you won't talk to me," she supplied with a pain in her voice.

"No, never a distraction. I have wanted this," he circled the air with his hand ambiguously. "From the moment you clenched onto that fork you were someone I have wanted to be with," his head lowered down Azriel didn't want to meet her eyes.

"Why haven't you told me?" Her confusion mixed with regret pained him.

"You have a mate," he muttered while plucking on some innocent straw of grass.

"And you know I don't want him," her palm searched for his cheek and as she turned his face to look at her, he saw tears in her eyes. "Whenever I'm with you I feel whole. Alive. I look at you and feel so scared," he inwardly flinched yet she held him in one place. "Scared of losing you. Every time I lose sight of you I feel like I'm drowning. It's as if a part of me was ripped apart," she closed her trembling lips and stared at him with utter devotion.

"Elain," his fingers touched her neck, his thumb circling around the hollow gap between her shoulder and jaw.

"That night I chose you. Us," she said with a final note, leaning against his hand. "It's my choice, no one else's," a butterfly-like kiss ghosted on his inner palm.

"Rhysand's orders," he gulped when she pushed him down and climbed onto his lap.

"Fuck Rhysand's orders," she spat and for a moment both of them were silent. Then he laughed, a true bellowing laughter erupted at the back of his throat at her vicious remark. Her giggles followed and he had never heard such an extraordinary sound.

"Never deemed you as a foul mouth," he managed when she slumped forward, enveloping him in a warm hug.

"I live with Illyrians and a very pissed immortal being," a hot kiss on his neck made him shiver.

"Elain," he took her face in his hands and stared at her brown eyes with a heat crawling down his spine. "Elain," he whispered again while closing the distance between them. She whimpered when he finally nibbed at her lower lip. The sensation waking up something primal inside him, a storm of feelings and needs attacking his senses. Her warm mouth opened and he finally kissed her - something exploded in his chest, something brilliant and intimate. It was as if everything was set in order, the way her lips moved against and how their bodies molded into one. He could feel her, smell her need and anticipation. She was shaking as her small fingers dug into his neck.

"Azriel," his name on her lips was his undoing. He opened his eyes and saw her… glowing. The golden hue enveloping both of them into a cocoon of intense bliss. When she opened her eyes the golden color lingered there for a while before vanishing, leaving both of them gasping for air.

"You were always there," he realized touching his chest. A vibrant thread blinding him with its magnitude.

"Rosehall," she laughed tracing his scars. "You have waited for so long," Elain kissed his temple while embracing him again. "I'm sorry I have made you wait for so long," the bridge between them sparkled with love and belonging.

"I knew you would come to me," nothing but the truth slipped through his lips as he gently cupped her chin. Both of them stared at each other, halves of two finally found. A home he had longed for, held in his arms as a scent of roses and jasmine shielded him from the world.

#elrielmonth #elrielmonth21 #pro elriel #elriel #day 1 #rosehall #pro elain archeron #pro azriel #elain and azriel

[literaila]

a bridge of chance

spencer x reader 

request: hi verity! i really reeaaaalllyyy love your writing, especially the more angsty ones but i wanted to request something with more fluff. i haven’t been feeling that well recently and i was wondering if you could write about the start about reader and spence’s relationship. where the reader has a hard time opening up and when they do, they’re afraid spencer is going to leave them. but then spence reassures them that he’s going to stay with them. (female or gender neutral reader is fine with me). thank you so much :)

warnings: fear, anxiety, some hints of depression, mentions of pain, fluff, crying, thats it, its very very long 

a/n: i’m sorry if its not what you expected! or if its too confusing (i wrote it so fast i cant even remember whats happening) * 

It was like walking across a bridge. 

It didn't seem hard, theoretically. All you had to do was walk forward, until you made it to the other side. A destination you’d been waiting to reach, hoping to find. It was only a couple of steps, meters away, a second of distance. 

But the fall was so far down. 

The chance of slipping, losing your footing, your balance, and falling off onto the edge of the earth, far away, where you would worry no one could ever find you again. It was a long way down. 

It was like walking across a bridge. 

And it didn't seem hard, but there was always that chance, a scary little ‘what if’ that stuck itself to the back of your mind until the task seemed impossible. Until falling, into loneliness and despair and all the bitter things of the world, seemed inevitable. 

She’d never told anyone that. She’d never uttered a word about how scared she was, how prone she was to falling into the darkness, into a world she’d climbed out far too many times. 

And she didn't plan to. She’d given up the hope of walking across a long time ago. She’d heard too many stories, too many failures, to trust herself to not fall off again. 

Because of that, she wouldn't. If she could just keep herself from needing to walk across, she’d never fall. 

And maybe that would turn out into a poor life, one where she never took risks, never had anything more than herself. 

But, she could live with that. She would make it through that. She wasn't sure she could make it through falling off again. 

***

She tried to ignore it. 

She tried to keep herself far away from the feeling. 

Remind herself of the bridge. 

Every night recently, she’d been having dreams. Strange dreams. Ones where she was walking, walking aimless and mindlessly, going nowhere, but finally stumbling across the bridge. It always got cold as soon as she saw it, and she could always feel the impending doom developing in her stomach, building itself into something new, but familiar. She begged herself not to walk across it, to turn around and continue walking nowhere, but she was being told what to do, and walking away wasn't it. 

She knew she was going to fall. She knew what this was, what it meant, and she didn't know why she wasn't allowed to turn around, and why she wasn't able to scream. 

She’d been having that dream for weeks. 

It’d been interrupting everything. She barely managed to get any sleep, always jumping herself awake before she could walk on it, before she could even attempt to let herself fall off. She spent all night chugging caffeine in any form, watching hours of tv until it was time to get ready for work. She took power naps during the day, excusing herself for lunch so that she could get at least fifteen minutes of sleep. 

It was pathetic and miserable. And she was glad that everyone else had pretended not to notice. 

And some nights she tried to go to sleep, taking pills enough to knock her out for a couple of days, hoping that they would be enough to help her sleep like the dead, with no dreams. 

But it didn't work. And she always ended up back by the bridge. The same one that she’d been seeing for weeks. 

The worst part was, she couldn't even pretend to be confused. There was no questioning from herself, no worries about what this strange dream meant, why she still hadn't crossed this bridge. She knew what it meant. 

She felt it every day. 

She felt it when she got her first cup of coffee in the morning, accidentally bumping hands with Spencer when they both reached for their mug. 

She felt it when they were away on a case, Hotch assigning the two of them to go talk to a witness, or check out a crime scene, or even stay behind and look over files both of them had already memorized. 

She felt it when he smiled at her. When they were both getting on the elevator to go home, he was smiling at her just because, and then giving her a small wave as they both made their way to their cars. 

She felt it when he looked at her, or said her name, or acknowledged her in any way. 

It was terrifying. But not confusing, no it had never been confusing for her. 

Because when she felt it, her heart sped up, her mind went blank, her eyes wavering on him for a moment too long, her hands picking nervously at her shirt, or her smile which never seemed to want to go away when he was around. 

It wasn't confusing. 

Her attention to detail, and knowledge of everything, made sure of that. 

And her dreams stayed the same, the feeling when she saw the bridge the same as when she saw him. 

She’d been there before. Too many times not to realize. 

She was in love with him. 

She was so desperately in love with him. 

And it was so threatening and so elating to be with him, far too exhilarating. 

Every time he smiled at her, she could feel herself walking forward, she could practically see the bridge in front of her, and she was ready to walk across it with him. She was ready to take that chance if he would just keep smiling at her like that. She was so free, and so nervous, and she could hear her heart begging her to go, to feel just as she did when he smiled at her forever. It was a desperate calling to be near him. 

But her dreams were vivid, and every night, when she saw that bridge, the one with all the memories, and all the burdens, and every terrible feeling she had ever gotten the chance to feel, she told herself not to go. She had made a promise to herself not to take the chance, not even for someone like Spencer. 

She saw herself slipping and falling, leaving him behind. And her feeling, the exhilarating one, she could see it being crushed in the fist of her own hand. 

And so when he smiled at her, she smiled back, just long enough to satisfy her heart, and turned around. Backing away from the bridge. Ignoring the feeling calling for Spencer to be next to her. 

She tried to ignore it. 

But it was so hard. So hard to keep herself away from him. 

Especially when he seemed to want to be near her just as much as she wanted to be near him. It was hard when he took the seat next to hers, bumping his knee against hers, sparking her leg with warmth for a second before moving it, and smiling at her. It was hard when he asked her if she wanted to get lunch with him, telling her about someplace he probably knew she would love, and she had to abandon the thoughts of her nap just to get the chance to go with him. It was hard when Garcia teased her about it, practically seeing through Y/N, and was relentless with her matchmaking. 

It was hard on days where she hadn't slept enough, hard to remind herself not to jump out of her desk and kiss him until they were both breathless. 

And it was hard because Spencer had started to get more daring with his advances. He’d been nervous to even be around her at first, she could tell just by the way his eyes danced around before looking back at her, but now, after months of spending more and more time together, he was no longer nervous, he looked right at her now, keeping eye contact with her as long as she would allow. 

It was crazy and nerve-racking, but Spencer had only been more and more willing to get closer and closer to her. 

And she would always say yes, to whatever he had asked her to do with him, whether it be going over to his apartment to watch a movie with him, playing chess in his hotel room when the cases were too much to sleep, going to dinner late at night when neither of them could sleep. She would always say yes, far too selfish to deny herself the pleasure. Far too tired to remember not to go. 

And besides, how could she say no to his eyes, which were wonderful and alive, and so very kind? 

Tonight, it was a movie. 

She hadn't gotten more than four hours of sleep in the past two days, but when Spencer asked her to come over, giving her one of his hopeful smiles, telling her that he promised he would get her favorite candy and that she could choose the movie, she almost begged herself to say no. 

She’d said yes. 

And the feeling, it was still there of course. All of her emotions, bunching together like she couldn't feel one thing at a time. 

Tonight was one of the nights where she almost couldn't breathe. She was used to watching movies with him now, after weeks of doing it she’d come to learn that he didn't like to stay quiet during movies, that Spencer preferred to make her laugh by commenting on something, or spilling some random fact about the movie itself. She’d always thought that people who couldn't stay quiet during movies were annoying, she’d always much preferred to enjoy the movie in silence, but now, she’d come to love Spencer's rambling. She’d always find herself waiting for it, even when he wasn't there, she was always waiting for him to say something. 

It was endearing. And terrifying. 

But that wasn't why she couldn't breathe. 

She wouldn't be able to breathe tonight because she and Spencer had gotten in the habit of moving closer and closer during these movie nights, neither of them saying anything about it, until one night she’d accidentally moved her head onto his chest, and instead of politely asking her to move like she’d expected him to, Spencer had only wrapped his arm around her shoulder, bringing her closer to him. 

It had almost stopped her heart completely. She didn't dare move even an inch that night. 

But after that, they always managed to find themselves tangled together, molded into each other's bodies like they were sand. And it seemed as both of them thoroughly enjoyed it, neither of them moving away. 

But it always made it far too difficult for Y/N to breathe through the movie, and most nights she couldn't pay attention to anything except the way Spencer's hands felt on her waist, how warm he was. 

She knew she was in far too deep. She could feel the warnings in her head, telling her to go home, to go to bed, and remind herself of the thing she was trying so hard to avoid. 

But, something was pulling her towards him, and she was too weak, too small, to pull back. 

So she was laying on the couch with him, a blanket wrapped over the two of them, Spencer having eventually noticed how cold she was and bringing it from his room. 

She felt very strange, very confused. 

This felt different than every other night. Kind of like they were both playing by the script. 

She could feel him breathing next to her, sometimes she snuck a glance at his face to see him still watching the movie, and she wondered what was going on. Why this felt so different. 

She was apprehensive about speaking up. She didn't want to ruin the night for him, and she didn't want him to move further away from her. 

But, the warning signs in her head kept going off. She kept seeing the bridge, over and over, reminding her just how scared she was to be so close to him, to feel like she did. If not being able to breathe didn't kill her, the fear certainly would. 

She tried to watch the movie, but she couldn't stop bringing up memories in her mind. 

Memories of people walking out the door, leaving her behind to fend for herself. She couldn't stop feeling and seeing the people she loved the most disappearing, fading into dust that she could never seem to find again. She imagined herself on the bridge, and she could see all the people she had trusted the most on the other side of it, she could see them laughing and taunting her. 

And she kept slipping, trying to get to them, trying to make it over, but she couldn't keep her balance, couldn't stay on her feet. 

And she remembered the feeling. The feeling of falling so far down that she couldn't breathe anymore, so far that she couldn't think, couldn't move, but could only look up, and wish that she knew how to dig herself out. She could only remember being nothing in a hole of darkness where no one could hear her. She could only remember the pain it took to dig herself out, the burning she felt when her fingernails were torn off from climbing her way out, the sting she felt when there was no one on the bridge anymore. And she was alone. 

She was sitting next to Spencer, enveloped in his warmth, in his care which he had proven to her over and over, time and time again, but she couldn't think about him, or the movie she had chosen herself. She could only see the memories become torn apart by the feeling she knew was so close to her. 

She couldn't try and walk, she couldn't fall again. 

She couldn't breathe when Spencer was so close. 

“I have to go,” she whispered, moving away from him, pulling herself from his arms, trying to keep herself from falling on the floor. 

She knew this was rude, and she knew that she really just needed to talk to him, and not leave him confused and alone in his apartment, but she couldn't think about it anymore and she really had to go. 

“Y/N?” 

“Sorry,” she whispered again, grabbing her bag and starting to put on her shoes. “I haven't been sleeping well, and I need to go home before I pass out, and thank you for the food and the movie, and I hope that-” she’d finally gotten both of her shoes on when she looked up at Spencer, saw him standing in front of her confused. 

She almost wanted to stay. 

She shook her head, getting herself out of those thoughts, she had to go. 

“You’re really being very nice, and I know this is incredibly rude, but I really do have to go and-” she paused, out of breath, realizing Spencer hadn't said anything. 

She walked over to the door, turning the handle, but not opening it yet. She turned back around, gave Spencer her best awkward smile. 

“I’m sorry. I’ll see you at work on Monday.” She turned to go, ready to save herself from the embarrassment.  

“Y/N?” 

She almost hit her head on the door, turning around so quick, she could feel her heart speed up at the way her name sounded coming out of his mouth. 

“Yes?” 

“Are you alright?” 

He took a step closer to her, the two of them reflecting body heat off of each other in such a smile hallway. Y/N felt her grip on the doorknob loosen.  

She was distracted by his eyes, which were still so bright and understanding, not reserved like she imagined hers were. He didn't look annoyed or confused or angry, just patient. Waiting for her to answer. 

She’d barely been listening. 

“What?” she whispered, just noticing how close he was. 

But Spencer still took a step forward, moving closer, and she could feel his breath on her forehead, and all she could see was him, him him, and she couldn't breathe. He was close, and she was so distracted, and she tried to take a step back, stumbling on her feet. 

“I asked if you were alright?” he said again, whispering just as she was, his eyes locked with hers. 

She couldn't look away, and he wasn't going to. 

She took a breath in, the air coming in handy when her lungs were so close to collapsing. 

He was closer, and she wasn't sure how that was possible when he seemed so close before. 

“I-” she breathed, watching him, her eyes drifting down to his lips, a place she had forbidden them from going. She was breaking all the rules, falling in too deep, but she didn't see how she could move now, how she would ever be able to survive when Spencer was so close to her. 

“Y/N,” he whispered again, his fingertips coming up to her face, grazing the place under her eyes, where the bags had gotten so much darker the past few weeks. “You’ve been so tired.” he followed, cupping her cheek with his hand. 

And she wasn't sure what was happening, but he was touching her, different from how they’d touched before. 

“I-” she couldn't think, didn't have anything to say. He was a nightmare, she’d been trying so hard to move away from him, but she couldn't anymore, she just couldn't right now. 

“Y/N?” he asked for the last time, his eyes moving away from the rest of her face, falling on her eyes again, looking at her. 

She hummed, no words, but acknowledgment being the only thing she could respond for the moment. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, his words flowing with the beat of her heart, and she didn't know what to do, how to think, how to breathe anymore, and she wanted him to. God, she wanted nothing more in the world than to be so close to him, than to remove the distance she could still feel between them. She wanted him to kiss her, to be there, and she didn't breathe a single word. 

She couldn't even nod her head anymore. 

She was so scared, so terrified, and there was nothing she could do to stop the burning in her chest, the fear in her eyes. She couldn't do this again, she’d been trying so hard to deny the truth, to deny the desperation to be with Spencer, to fall into his arms, to kiss him. She’d tried so hard, and she couldn't help but think that she had made a mistake coming tonight, that she shouldn't have come, that she shouldn't be there. 

She had made a promise. She’d promised she wouldn't do this again. 

And just like she had said the words out loud, Spencer moved back. Read the words on her face before she could breathe again. And she wanted him to come back, to kiss her, but she hadn't realized the tears falling from her eyes. Tears of hope, and fear and desperation, tears that she was embarrassed by. 

She still couldn't breathe thinking about what she had just done. 

But Spencer was there, and he was smart enough to speak for her. 

“Y/N? What's wrong?” He asked, he was meters away from her, allowing her the space to leave if she wanted to, the space to finally think for herself, the space so that he wouldn't do anything that she didn't want him to. 

Y/N gasped a breath in. It was strange to breathe after holding your breath for so long. It was strange to be so far apart from someone you wanted to be close to. 

“Can I sit down?” she mumbled, finally finding the words to say, finally thinking again. 

Spencer nodded, as quick as he could, going over to her to lead her to his couch, just trying to comfort her when she was obviously upset. 

He went to the kitchen, giving her a moment of space, and brought her back some water, noticing the signs of exhaustion and dehydration clearly. 

Y/N stayed silent, drinking the water, breathing in and out. She felt embarrassed for crying, ashamed for being so hesitant, nervous because she was still with Spencer and he was clearly worried about her. She was feeling so many things, and none of them seemed to be good. 

Spencer and she sat there in silence for a couple of minutes. Spencer understood needing some time, and he wasn't going to let her leave until she seemed better, but he would respect her space, try to offer any help that he could. Even if that meant just sitting and breathing with her. 

But finally, after about six minutes went by, and Y/N was breathing normally, her heart rate obviously slowed down, Spencer couldn't keep himself from asking. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

Y/N looked at him, saw his eyes, heard his voice, and she could feel her heart pick up, beat with her thoughts. She loved him. Even when she was scared, she loved him. 

And before she could think about an answer, the words came tumbling out of her mouth. 

“I’m scared,” she whispered, looking away from him. 

Spencer watched her, confused, waited for her to continue. 

The words poured out of her mouth, flowing like a river as she told Spencer about her dreams, about the fear she felt in her chest, about the nights she’d spent up all night, hoping to bring her thoughts some relief. She told him about the sleeping pills, the naps she took in her car, the nights where she only lived off of caffeine. 

Spencer empathized with her, nodding along, listening to every word that she said, giving her the space to let out everything that she’d been building up. 

He never once interrupted, never said anything that wasn't invited. 

And then finally, she admitted the truth, the words she’d kept tucked in the back of her mind for weeks, feeling her nerves overflow inside of her. 

“I’m in love with you, and that's terrifying.” She whispered, avoiding his eyes. 

But when she finally looked back up, Spencer made no visible reaction to her words, only giving her a soft smile and nodding for her to continue again. 

“So many people have left,” she whispered, tears now flowing down her face at the words. “I’m so scared to be myself around everyone because it never seems to be enough. I always seem to drive everyone away.” 

She felt worse admitting the words out loud, felt scared admitting them to Spencer, someone she was sure that could push her off the bridge at any point, the one person she had fallen too deep with. 

“There are so many things in my life that have caused so much damage, so many things that are too much for people to deal with. Even my family and friends. I always drive them away, my trust issues getting in the way of everything.” She took a deep breath in, the words giving a big impact on her chest. “I don't trust anyone, not even myself, to keep me safe. And I’m so scared of letting people in, letting them get to know me because I know that they won't like it, I know that it's going to be too much. I can't trust anyone and so I’m terrified every time anyone is too nice or smiles at me the way you smile at me.” 

She didn't look over to see Spencer frowning, looking down at his hands, clearly still listening but now surrounded by his own reaction to the words. 

“So when we started getting closer, I started having those dreams, I started imagining myself falling into that place again. And I knew that if it happened one more time, I wouldn't be able to survive. I cant survive getting hurt like that anymore.” She whispered the last part like it was a secret she wanted to keep to herself like it was something she was only able just now to admit. 

And Spencer was about to say something when she continued. 

“But…” she paused to look at him, smiling through her tears. “You’re so tempting. You’re impossible to stay away from. And every time we’re together I forget everything I’m scared of, I just live in that moment with you. And I love it.” 

Spencer smiled at her back, his face still a bit reserved, his thoughts still not perfect, but he liked the smile on her face, the way the words she was saying seemed to cheer her up all on their own. 

“I don't want to lose this feeling. The one I have with you. But I can't help thinking that I will, and that's so scary to me. It's too much.” 

All of these words were relieving, but Y/N didn't want to see Spencer's reaction. She hadn't even given him the moment to tell her if he felt the same, and it was only for a second she realized that she had put herself up with no defenses, that Spencer could crush her right there with only a few words and she couldn't do anything about it. 

She almost started to get up, to leave, to start screaming and crying like she wanted to when he spoke again. 

“Hey,” he whispered, seeing the panic on her face, moving closer to her so that he could put his hand on her knee, keep her from running away when he still had so much to say. “Being this close to you, it makes my hands sweaty, and my brain runs blank, and my heartbeat out of my chest.” he laughed, trying to bring a smile to her face. “I can't remember a time when I felt like this, so undeniably happy, except for every moment with you.” 

“Spencer…” she whispered the words coming out of his mouth feeling foreign, the beating her chest insistent. 

“I would never let you fall. You’re so many things Y/N, but you’re not a person that drives people away. You’re someone who makes them want to stay.” 

Spencer moved closer to her, bringing his hand from her knee up to her face, cupping her cheek as he had earlier, but more gentle this time, just a little bit more cautious. 

“It's okay to be scared, I don't blame you. But, I don't want to let you fall, I want to walk that bridge with you. I want to hold onto you.” He paused for a moment, smiling at her, his eyes looking at her the same way they always did. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for months, I still do actually.” He said, his fingertips brushing against her bottom lip, his eyes away from hers. 

And her heart sped up again, and this was familiar. It was all familiar. They’d done this earlier, but she’d been terrified earlier. She’d had all of these fears locked up inside her head, all of these memories trapped behind bars that she had put up. 

“I love you,” Spencer whispered, the words hitting Y/N right in her head, in her heart, in the places that she didn't think were possible to feel emotion in. She could feel everything and nothing, and it was just Spencer, and he loved her. 

He was in love with her. 

She was terrified, and nervous, and so in love, when she leaned in closer to him, not letting herself move away again. 

And her lips were on his, and for the first time, she felt the desperation spread past her body, she felt that feeling moves to Spencer, both of them stuck together, their emotions exactly the same. 

And she was right, she was so right to be terrified, but she was so close to him, and she was so happy and felt so much happier than she ever had before. 

She could almost see the bridge, she could almost see them walking across it. 

Spencer pulled away, his eyes alight with the kiss they had shared, his face full of fondness and love for her. Only for her. 

He kept his hands on her face. Kept her as close as possible. 

“You need sleep,” he whispered, looking her in the eyes as he had so many times. “Stay with me tonight. It's too late for you to go home.” 

He smiled at her. 

“Okay,” she whispered back. 

* 

Spencer gave her a toothbrush, they brushed their teeth together, trying to hide their smiles from each other. 

They failed. 

Spencer handed Y/N some sweatpants and a shirt she could wear for the night, he gave her some privacy going into his kitchen to get some water for both of them. Even alone, Y/N couldn't stop herself from smiling, she could hear Spencer's voice in her head, telling her he loved her over and over. It was an exhilarating feeling to know the truth, even more exhilarating than the feeling she’d felt before. 

When he came back, she smiled at him, allowed him to wrap an arm around her, enveloping her in a warm hug. One that was comforting, and appreciated by both of them. 

By the time they got in bed, Y/N could feel her eyes starting to close. The exhaustion suddenly hit her all at once, the day had been tiring, with working all day, then staying up to watch a movie with Spencer, then pouring her heart out for him, only for it to be far too worth it. 

And she couldn't keep the smile off her face, but she knew that her body would much appreciate a night's sleep, and she would love to wake up in Spencer's arms. 

She rested her head on his chest, listening to his breath, breathing him in just the same. 

“Y/N?” he whispered for the last time that night, rubbing her back and playing with her hair. 

She was barely awake at that point, her eyes falling down, weighing a million pounds. 

“Hmm?” she whispered back, her eyes closed as she fell into his warmth. 

“Will you go on a date with me?” he whispered, his eyes wide, awaiting her response. 

But by then, she was asleep, breathing in and out, smiling in her sleep, her cheek resting against Spencer's chest. 

Spencer chuckled, happy that she was finally peaceful, finally getting some rest. He whispered ‘I love you’ staring at her for a moment. He kissed her head, held on to her a little bit tighter. 

*

That night, she had the same dream. 

But Spencer was there this time. He was holding onto her hand, whispering ‘I love you’ in her ear. 

And when she started to walk forward, he walked with her.

* 

my masterlist here. 

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds rp #criminal minds headcanons #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fan #spencer reid fanfic #mgg

[h4ji]

─雨

summary: iwaizumi reminds you of the rain: a sign of life, but when your relationship changes, so does your view of rain.

warnings: infidelity/cheating, gradual relationship change, fluff to angst, & NOT PROOFREAD

wc: 2.5k

req: no

a/n: yes this is a repost, but here’s a fic inspired by the rain from a couple days ago

rain. you could either hate rain or love it, it could bring bad memories or good ones. you loved the rain because it reminded you of iwaizumi: his fresh scent, kisses in the rain, running in the rain, and the wet hair sticking to your forehead. your dates were often accompanied by rain, because of poor planning, but neither of you minded as you simply enjoy being in each other’s presence. the rain is symbolic, you and hajime saw it as renewal, a new spring, a revival of life. you both never saw it as a bad thing.

rainy days were either spent inside, bundled up and watching godzilla or outside, watching the dark grey sky turn into a blue sunny one from the window of a cafe. his calloused and warm hands holding your smaller ones. “haji, look!! the rain is pouring down!” you smile and hajime can’t help but smile at you. he pinches your cheek, “stop being so cute, y/n” he chuckles as you whine for him to stop. what could be better than this, you think. as the rain clear ups, hajime pulls you up and out of the cafe. the scent of fresh air and wet grass evident in your surroundings. rainy days were your favorites, because they reminded you of him. 

it was supposed to rain all week, which delighted you to no extent. but hajime is a busy man, with the olympics so close he couldn’t spend as much time at home. you didn't mind one bit, you supported him every step of the way and as long as he was happy and loved his job, you would be happy for him. “i’m home,” hajime says out loud, his tired frame taking off his shoes as he looks at the floor. and then he hears the pitter patter of your sock covered feet, “welcome home, haji” you smile, hands clasped together in delight before you jump and wrap your arms around him. your giggles fill his ears and he’s never been more delighted to hear it. his toned arms wrap around your frame, “i missed you” he breathes out, and almost instantaneously breaths your scent in. home. this is home. you were his home.

the sound of the rain drumming against the glass of the window, you’re favorite type of day. “haji, look! it’s raining outside” you smile whilst pressing your hand against the cool glass, contemplating whether you’d go outside. but those thoughts died down as soon as hajime declined the offer to go out. and you understood. of course you did! he just came back from a grueling day at work, how could you make him do something like that. this should’ve been the least of your worries

the rain is beautiful. you watch the droplets slide down the window, the sound gradually getting louder. and for some reason, the rain didn’t make you happy anymore. it made you sad. 

you tried to be understanding you really did, but hajime’s appearances at the house were practically nonexistent. where is he… you think as your fingers thump against the window sill, desperately looking outside, for a sign, a sign of hajime. you needed him. you didn’t realize but these symptoms: restlessness, trembling, harsh breaths and this constant worry, were of you having a panic attack. your body curls in on itself, an attempt to find solace in the cold room and the rain. but your lover was nowhere to be seen.

these situations started to make you resent the rain. the rain was no longer a symbol of life, renewal or spring. the thing that reminded you of hajime, the rain, you started to resent… what would this mean for you both. 

hajime could feel it too. the constant distance, an imaginary wall if you will, between you both. where did it go wrong… he frowns. he remembers rainy days being your favorite, so why was the atmosphere so gloomy and depressed, was he missing something? 

his failure to notice your feelings, your complete and utter loneliness, was where he started to go wrong. he failed to notice your constant comparing, he failed to notice your heart slowly breaking, failed to notice the utter loneliness and despair you felt within yourself. he wondered what was wrong, but never voiced his opinions, thinking if they wanted to tell me, they would. this relationship would no longer symbolize the old meaning of rain: fresh and beautiful life, now it symbolized despair, loneliness and tears. you used to wear your heart on your sleeve, it was something he loved about you, but he made you subject to these feelings. not him per say but his lack of… emotion or awareness. did he not notice you suffering? did he not notice you sobbing to yourself? did he care? what happened to you both?

you noticed he had changed. how he no longer mimicked your sadness or no longer pleaded towards it. he seemed much...happier. and your mind wanders, the insecurities biting at your body and mind, telling you that he no longer needed you and that he’d find someone better to appease to him.

he doesn’t come home often, stating that the olympics and his work are of first priority. and you think to yourself… is this why he didn’t notice your depressive state? you were practically screaming in silence, was he that oblivious. the home you lived in together, it no longer felt like home. and that day when hajime came home, he knew, things weren’t how they used to be. the pile of dishes in the sink, the cold dinner on the table, and the loud silence that filled the air. he sees your sleeping frame on the couch, doubled over in despair as the television on with some stereotypical rom com playing. oh how he despised those couples, so cliche and so...unnatural; is that how the two of you used to be?

he walks up to you, his mind internally fighting on whether to wake you up and ask if you were okay, ask if your relationship was okay, or just to let you sleep. he opted for the latter. which was the wrong move on his part.

he came home again the next night, something that was unusual. and this time you were awake, but the mess and emptiness from last night was still present. this befuddled him to no end, what the hell were you doing at home? or were you even at home all day? that day was particularly shitty: it was gloomy, he was tired, stressed, and all of this mess. his loud sighs of annoyance alarm you, the first time you see him in weeks and he’s annoyed with you? 

“do you do anything at all?” iwaizumi snarks out. “it can’t be that fucking hard, can it? i go and work for like 12 hours of the day and all you fucking do is sit on your ass and cry.” and it hurts him to say that to the one he loves, but his insecurities and anger got the best of him. were you at home all day today? were you seeing someone else? he was beyond confused with the two of you.

so he walks out that night. he leaves you alone, in the cold dark house to wallow in self pity and hatred. and as he goes to the bar he realizes, you’re no longer his home. 

as you wallow in a mountain worth of your own tears, you come to terms with the fact that you hate the rain because it reminded you of iwaizumi hajime. 

little do you know on that night he meets a lady. a small, curvy, attention giving and seeking, beautiful lady. her long hair sits perfectly on her shoulders and iwaizumi thinks about how he hasn’t seen you dressed up nicely recently. lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t realize he’s staring at her, but oh she definitely notices. the blush on her cheeks proves just that much, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by him. 

when was the last time you reacted to him like this? when did he even see another person that wasn’t you, has it been that long? he internally sighs. but he’s pulled out of his thoughts when he feels a soft and delicate hand on his bicep, “what’s a man like you doin’ here all by yourself” she glistens as she speaks. and iwaizumi swears he hasn’t felt like this in so long. he soaks in all her attention, like a dry sponge soaking all of the water thrown at it. his beautiful smile, the one you adore, shown on full display for the beautiful young lady. That night… he doesn’t think about you, at all. 

nothing seems out of the ordinary when you see him again. the same silent house, no smiles are thrown and it’s just an empty void. 

he sees her again. hell he makes plans with her, he wouldn’t call it a date, god no he wouldn’t. he has you-

“wait,” he thinks, “are we really still together?” he asks, almost in disbelief. you haven’t said a word to each other since iwaizumi bursted out on you. 

he found solace in her: her face, her emotions, her attention, even her body. god, she was everything you weren’t. she was giving him everything you couldn’t emotionally, mentally or physically. he didn’t even realize you working on yourself, all for him. you noticed it too. his persona was back, but who made it come back? certainly not you.

his smile, something he used to be so insecure about, was brighter than ever. but who was he smiling for, you hadn’t spoken in days, no weeks at this point. maybe work was getting better, you tried to convince yourself. “hajime, would never EVER do that to me... would he?” you think as tears well up in your eyes. hajime was your everything, he was your stability in time’s of weakness, he was your other half, but unfortunately for you he’s starting to not think the same.  

you see him home for the first time in 3 weeks, he looks happy and you smile at him. he’s surprised to see you greeting him, and he greets you with a hug and kiss to your temple. you’d never even guess that he was seeing someone behind your back. hajime reminded you of the rain, that fact never changed. this new symbol of rain resembles heartbrokenness. the sun in your life is covered by grey disgusting clouds. 

for months he continues this affair, the other woman giving him the support and love he no longer comes to you for. he holds her hand as she sleeps, while your hand lays sprawled out against his side of the bed. the rain hits the window, like that fateful day and your eyes well up in realization, “olympics season is over, where is he?”. your palm curls in on itself, the sobs racking up your body and they echo in the room. for the first time in months, the rain brings you comfort as you cry out all the insecurity and self hatred you’ve kept in. this is a ritual that continues for the rest of the week, wearing iwa’s sweater and crying as you long for his comfort or even his presence. his scent starts to fade from the house and rather it smells like the rain, the fresh rain that reminded you of him. that night, you grab your phone and press on iwa’s contact, and you type before your mind could process. “i miss you, can you please come home?” “what the hell did i do?” “please”, and you despised how desperate you sounded, but you needed him. however, your messages fell on deaf ears as he made love to this girl, he was pounding into her with so much love while you cried out for him in despair. he didn’t care about you anymore, he didn’t need you like you needed him. he was no longer your home.

the next night he came home, you noticed the love bites and nail marks, that which were so clearly not yours. he sleeps next to you, for the first time in weeks, but he feels so distant. it doesn’t even feel like he’s there. there’s no love in that bed. 

you think you’d be used to it, feeling alone while next to him, but you weren’t. You finally had him to yourself and he didn;t even spare you a glance. you had an idea that he was no longer interested, but you couldn’t fathom this. his phone lights up like crazy, said girl texting him, asking him when he would come back to her, when he would end things with you and saying after that they could finally be together, with no worries or barriers. your hand reaches out for his phone, opening up the password he made sure you knew by heart, which revealed all the messages with her. in these messages he professes his love for her, saying that he wishes they could start a family together and how he could just let go of the burden that he felt from you. 

sure he felt bad, you were his first s/o, you’d always have a special place in his heart. but he couldn’t bring himself to care when he felt bound to you, a relationship with no love or affection, no care, nothing at all. if he told himself a couple years ago that this is where you both would be, he wouldn't believe it, at all. you were each other’s first: first kiss, first sexual experience, first significant other, first everything. but the relief he felt when he heard you crying was abnormal, but all he could think of was “i’m free”. he heard your sobs as you looked at all the messages, he felt you shaking beside him. part of him wanted to reach out to you, wanted to console the broken person in front of him, but another part of him said that he was finally free to do as he pleases, he wouldn't be bound by a loveless relationship and he sure as hell wasn’t going to be anymore. like said before, he feels bad, really bad, for lying for cheating, but he felt like he had no other option with you. you always found a way to make him stay and he couldn’t fucking take it anymore. besides, how could he feel bad when the person he loves was hiding in the confinement of his phone and not next to him every night. he couldn’t tell anyone how much he loved this girl because of you, but now he was free, free to do as he pleases.

iwaizumi hajime reminded you of the rain. but rain has different meanings. iwaizumi hajime reminded you of love, happiness and spring. your relationship also reminded you of rain, the gloominess, depression, spiritual death and bad omens. but now the rain reminded you of new life: the new life you’d face without hajime, the rebirth of your soul and heart,  the resurrection of happiness in your life, rain isn’t so bad anymore.

#iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi hajime angst #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi imagine #iwaizumi imagines #iwaizumi scenarios #iwaizumi angst #iwaizumi fluff #iwaizumi haikyuu #iwaizumi hajime fluff #iwaizumi hajime x you #iwaizumi x y/n #iwaizumi x gn reader #iwaizumi x female reader #iwaizumi x gender neutral reader #iwaizumi x male reader #seijoh #seijoh fluff #seijoh x reader #seijoh angst #seijoh imagines #seijoh scenarios #aoba johsai #aoba josai x reader #aoba josai #aoba johsai angst #haikyuu!! #haikyuu #haikyuu imagines

[siriuslyobsessedwith]

Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger: Nightmares

They are about three months into dating, still in the early stages of testing each other’s boundaries and asking guiding questions when Hermione sleeps over at Draco’s apartment for the first time

Stumbling through the door after a casual night out, their hands are on each other in a millisecond: Draco threads his fingers through her curls while she grins into his lips; Hermione’s hands slide up his neck and her legs straddle his waist and they tumble through the apartment and into his bedroom and the night progresses

Neither of them think to mention their nightmares before they fall asleep tangled into each other. Burgeoning love has a way of doing that to people, of turning normally careful, disciplined individuals soft with happiness and safety.

But the nightmares have come for both of them for years. Draco’s began the summer after 5th year when his father was in Azkaban and Voldemort set up his court in his home. For the first time in his life, he felt helpless, terrified, and, above all, alone. His father was gone and he felt the responsibility of protecting his mother in every waking moment. At night, he failed over and over and over again.

Now, however, his nightmares are of him failing everyone he loves and having to watch them die. But they are also of his very real failures, of watching his now-girlfriend scream and contort under his aunt’s curse, of watching his mother be punished for his inability to kill.

Hermione’s nightmares start the same time. She dreams of the curse she was struck with in the Department of Mysteries, of the cruel twist of the Death Eater’s wand as he sent the bright light toward her. As the danger becomes more imminent, her nightmares change to watching herself make a mistake that costs her friends their lives. She, too, lives with a constant burden of saving everyone. At night, she watches everyone die, and then wakes screaming as she too is punished for her failure.

After Malfoy Manor and the Battle of Hogwarts, however, her nightmares change. They are less visual, more visceral. She feels Greyback’s breath down the back of her neck, the lightning strike of each Crucio. She can hear the screams of Mrs. Weasley over Fred’s body and the whimpers of Lavender Brown in the Great Hall. She is surrounded by horror through all her senses but sight. Through it all, she can see nothing. She is helpless, lost, and in the dark.

They both wake up from nightmares differently. Draco convulses as the green light inevitably jets towards him or his mother or his father and his eyes snap open, and for a moment he is paralyzed with horror. His breath come in frantic puffs and his hands clench into fists. He lays stiff, eyes wide and staring, his mind willing his body to respond. But for a moment, he is trapped, unable to do anything but try to breath.

Hermione wakes up screaming every time. She bolts upright and her cheeks are crying and she has to hold herself to calm down, calm down, calm down. After the war, she took to putting silencing charms on her room when she was staying with the Weasley’s. The first night she forgot was the first day she started looking for her own apartment. The pity and pain in everyone’s eyes the next morning was worse for her than any nightmare.

Even though they are both nestled into the other, safe and happy and hopeful for the first time in a while, their nightmares still find them. Hermione wakes first, screaming and stuffing the sheets into her mouth in an attempt to muffle her cries. She buries her head into her knees and shakes and sobs as silently as she can. She didn’t want him to think she was so broken anymore. And she can’t possibly see the same pity in his eyes. That would break her forever.

Draco is an incredibly light sleeper, so he is slammed out of watching her scream at his home to watch her sob in his bed. For a moment he is still paralyzed, at once trying to calm himself down and trying to make himself move. He’s furious at himself for being so weak and so trapped that he can’t comfort her. For a solid minute he is trapped and just has to watch her sob and heave and tremble and god he swears it’s worse than any nightmare.

When his body lets him move again, he reaches out for her, threading his hand around her back and pulling her to him. She jumps, turning wide eyes to him that seem to search for something. He holds her gaze, and they communicate silently for a bit. Sometimes words don’t work.

I hear you, he thinks to her. I’m here and I don’t want you to be alone.

I’m sorry, she thinks to him. I’m sorry you have to see me like this and I’m sorry I’m too lost in my nightmare to help you with yours. 

I have nightmares too, they both think. We are both so broken, it’s almost funny.

Is their shared suffering beautiful? Maybe it’s not, but understanding without pity is something neither of them had every truly hoped for before this. They say a million important things just with their eyes, and then, in silent agreement, Hermione nestles herself into Draco and they fall into an uneasy but nonetheless comforting sleep. Hermione, lulled by the sound of Draco’s heart while he counts her breaths and watches her face, gradually dips into sleep.

They don’t mention the unspeakable. That their nightmares are opposite and the same. That he dreams of doing nothing while she suffers, and she dreams of the terrifying, impossible pain and the memory of being utterly helpless.

When Hermione wakes up to the sound of the coffee maker, she startles a bit, realizing that she isn’t in her own flat. And then she remembers last night. The spot in the bed next to her is cold, and she bunches the covers up over her chest as she shivers. 

She tiptoes out of bed, rustling through his drawers to find a t-shirt of his to wear, and attempts to wrangle her sleep-ruined hairdo from the night before into something kind of ok. When she tiptoes out of the room, she imagines she is leaving the nightmares behind. She catches him in the kitchen, humming to himself as he makes coffee just the way she likes it, and she smiles at him because this man, without the burdens of the world, is all hers. 

And then she remembers. And she’s guilty and angry and sad and worried. He heard that scream, watched her heave and shake and try to remember it’s over, it’s over, it’s not real. There’s no way he will look at her the same. The acceptance of last night was temporary, a necessity of two sleep-deprived war survivors.

“Granger, don’t you know it’s rude to stare? And a bit creepy, if I’m being honest.”

She’s startled out of her thoughts by a steaming cup of coffee and cream and she looks up and his eyes are full of understanding. Not pity. Understanding and promise. For a moment she thinks they are just not going to talk about it (and if she’s completely honest, she could live with that), but he proves her wrong, just as he has so many times before. 

“Nightmares, huh,?” he quips, eyes boring in to her without apology. “Every night?”

“Yes,” she whispers. 

“Always the same?”

“Yes. You too?”

“Yes. Do you--,” he pauses, hand worrying the back of his neck. “Do you want to...talk about it?” His eyes are hesitant, as though there is an invisible line he knows he can’t cross. 

“Not really,” she murmurs. “Do you?”

“No.”

They pause in silence for a moment. He’s thinking of how he can possibly comfort her if she doesn’t want to talk and then condemning himself for thinking she would ever want to talk to him about it. She’s imagining all the things he’s thinking, that she blames him or that she hates him or that she’ll never forgive him. 

They’ve never broached the subject of that night. He’s told her of everything he did to protect his family and stay alive, and she’s told him about the months on the run, of the months without Ron. But they’ve never talked about Malfoy Manor. 

At the very same time, they speak: “I’m sorry.” and “I never blamed you.” at the same time, and then terrified eyes lost in each other’s gaze. 

Hermione’s never been one for difficult emotions. She starts laughing, giggling at first and he’s looking at her like she is unstable and insane and she’s choking on how insane this all is and how did they find each other. 

“We are,” she breaks off, interrupted by another chain of giggles, “We are quite a pair, Malfoy. However did we find each other?”

Nothing else needs to be said. They find comfort in the unspoken: touches, eye contact, acts of kindness, protectiveness. They don’t need to talk about things they desperately want to leave behind them. 

“Well, Granger, I believe you burst into my compartment looking for a toad some years ago.”

“And you were an utter arse for the next 7 years.”

“And then you became obsessed with me. And of course I pitied you, so here we are,” he smirks, knowing he’s bought himself a thorough chastisement. 

He doesn’t expect his witch to launch herself into his arms, to place her soft lips on his in a touch that says everything and nothing. 

And their nightmares don’t define them. Maybe they’ll talk about them, maybe they won’t. They won’t let the darkness of before taint the dreams they have for the future. The dreams of something that might be, something that could be, some future that links them together. 

#dramione #dramionefic #dramione fic #angst #nightmares #postwar #draco #draco malfoy #dramione fluff #draco lucius malfoy #hermione granger #harry #ron #draco and hermione #bellatrix lestrange #narcissa #malfoy #malfoy manor #granger #harry and ron and hermione #Hermione Malfoy #domestic dramione #ptsd #battle of hogwarts

[luvdsc]

let’s play pretend.

what if we’re in love? haha, just kidding... unless?

pairing :: na jaemin x reader genre :: fluff / best friend + college au word count :: 1,552 words warnings :: none playlist :: talk too much (coin) ⋆ face (woosung) ⋆ pretend (bad suns) ⋆ la belle femme (hunny) ⋆ love you like crazy (taeyeon) author’s note :: best f2l is the ultimate trope sorry i don’t make the rules

Persistent fratboys at parties are the absolute worst. Already early into the night, you find yourself unable to shake off the latest leech in all his snapback and rayban glory. Why is it that they never back off until you’re forced to lie about a significant other? If you’re lucky, they’ll stop there. It’s quite stupid how they’ll let you go only if you suddenly have a boyfriend, rather than simply understanding that you aren’t interested. Perhaps, they’re too scared to confront how undesirable they actually are.

Literally, nobody wants someone who owns salmon shorts and more button up shirts with palm trees than necessary. Never mind the fact that you’ve seen this guy participate in more forties at four than actually attend his classes sober if he even makes it to your shared A.I. ethics lecture at eight in the morning. And he’s wearing those god awful sperry boat shoes with no socks. Inwardly, you shiver.

Eyes flitting around, you desperately try to see if you can find any one of your friends nearby who can take you out of your misery, but Yeji and Yerim are already mixed in the drunken dancing crowd, and you can’t find Donghyuck or Jeno anywhere. Renjun had been standing with you prior, but he already went home a few minutes ago because he had midterms early tomorrow morning. However, perhaps Lady Luck understands your woes because you spot your best friend coming out of the kitchen.

You quickly grab his arm, pulling Jaemin over. “Sorry, I’m here with him already.”

“This is your boyfriend?” the guy asks skeptically, unabashedly staring at your friend in question.

“Yep. Yes, that’s him. My boyfriend. Love of my life. My other half. His name is Jaemin.”

Jaemin turns to look at you, somewhat confused. You try to send some sort of telepathic message to him, and to your relief, it seems that he understands when you shoot him a look of mixed panic and desperation.

“Yeah, that’s me. I’m the boyfriend. The super significant other.” He reconfirms your answer and returns the male’s stare, giving him an enthusiastic thumbs up.

Great. Nothing says “I love you” more than a common hand signal found on YouTube videos. Maybe you should tell fratboy to hit the subscribe button, too. Subscribe to see more daily mishaps in the life of Y/N and watch as she digs an even deeper hole for herself.

The boy scoffs, crossing his arms across his chest, as he shakes his head in disbelief. You are temporarily distracted, almost impressed even, at how his styled hair doesn’t even move. You really need to know where he gets his hair products.

“Really? It doesn’t seem like it.”

 Slipping his arm around your waist smoothly, Jaemin tugs you closer, and you freeze, pressed up snugly against his side. You really didn’t think this one through. Swallowing hard, you force your body to relax. It’s no big deal, it’s not like you’ve been harboring a crush on your best friend for months and have been trying to get over him for the sake of friendship.

“I don’t know what to tell you, but I’ve been in love with her ever since she fell asleep on me in our macroeconomics class.”

You smile sheepishly as you remember your first meeting, pretending that his words didn’t affect your heart as much as it actually did whilst simultaneously thanking the stars that he was always a quick thinker. His lips quirk up in the corners into that sweet smile you always adore before he presses a tender kiss to your temple that has you going dizzy. Your cheeks warm up as you duck your head, attempting to hide the bashful expression on your face.

“She had on this pale blue fluffy sweater, and she reminded me of a cute baby blue jay. She had a green notebook decorated with corgi stickers and always took really neat notes with this pen that had a flower chain attached to the top and had the prettiest handwriting. I remember thinking to myself, I better take good notes even though I never took notes before, just so I could give them to her as an excuse to talk to her afterwards.”

He absentmindedly draws circles on your hip, making you even more flustered not only from his actions, but also shocked that he remembers all of that even down to the outfit you were wearing. Heck, you didn’t even remember what you wore that day. He gazes at you, smiling fondly, and your breath hitches in your throat. His eyes look so sincere, sparkling under the harsh strobe lights, and if you didn’t know any better, you really thought he may have loved you back. A dull ache starts to form in your chest at that silly daydream. “She looked really cute, leaning against my shoulder like that, and even her snoring was adorable.”

You gasp at that, looking at him indignantly. “I don’t snore!”

“You’re right, I’m sorry, angel. Forgive me?”

He pauses and leans down, his lips millimeters away from yours, before hesitating and lingering there, so close yet so far away. Your heart nearly skips a beat from how naturally the sweet term of endearment slips from his lips and from the close proximity between you and him. From the corner of your eye, you can still see that fratboy standing there. You had almost forgotten he even existed: the sole, annoying cause of your current predicament. To seal the deal and perhaps for a little bit of a selfish reason, you lean forward, closing the distance and grazing your lips against his.

Your hands are on his chest, nervously tugging on the lapels of his jacket, and his are placed on your waist, gently tugging you impossibly closer. You’re quite certain Jaemin can feel how fast your heart is beating with how tight your bodies are now pressed together, but that’s the least of your worries right now. The only thoughts that pop up in your mind is that one, his lips are slightly chapped, yet incredibly soft; two, he’s a very good kisser; and three, mission: “how to get over having a crush on your best friend” is a complete and utter failure.

When you reluctantly pull away from him, his nose nudges yours softly, and your eyes flutter open. He is looking at you with parted lips, hazy eyes, and an indiscernible gaze that causes you to feel a whole colony of butterflies in your stomach. Any words that had come to mind have now flown out the window, and you can’t tear your eyes away from the radiant boy in front of you.

“Maybe we should do that again. Just in case, you know? To really send a message to that douche,” he mutters quietly, his eyes searching yours for confirmation. You give him an almost imperceptible nod, relenting to your heart this time instead of your mind.

It feels as if it’s simply the two of you standing there, the rest of your surroundings fading away and the music slowing down in the background. You look up at him from under your lashes, eyes fluttering close once more. Jaemin presses his mouth against yours firmly this time, with certainty, almost as if he meant it, as if his lips are made solely for kissing yours. And in that moment, you truly believe that he’s in love with you. 

You are dazed, absolutely starstruck, until the two of you break apart, until you remember why this all came to be, and your heart comes crashing back to earth. Those seven minutes in heaven were utterly heavenly in your little bubble of make-believe universe with only you and him. You almost don’t want to open your eyes, but you do, and you find yourself staring back at him.

And just as you’ve always known, Jaemin looks absolutely breath taking, impossibly ethereal, and one hundred percent devastatingly heart wrenching: a modern day Adonis in the flesh. He gives you a shy smile, pretty eyes glimmering as if he stole from the night sky himself. You’re so close that you can count every single long dark lash framing his starry eyes and feel the warmth radiating from his blushing cheeks. His lips are red and slightly swollen, and you feel as if you had just ruined a masterpiece from the Louvre.

Your cherry lip gloss has been smudged onto his lips, and you reach out to carefully wipe it off. He gently catches your hand when you move it away and intertwines his fingers with yours. Your breath hitches in your throat once more, and you admire the way your hand fits perfectly in his for a few stolen moments until the dream is shattered once more and you’re pulled back to reality.

“Thanks, Jaemin. He’s gone now, so you don’t have to pretend to be in love with me anymore,” you mumble softly, slowly pulling your hand away and giving him an apologetic smile.

He reaches out to gently brush his finger tips against the apples of your cheeks before delicately tucking a stray strand of your hair behind your ear. When you finally dare to meet his eyes, Jaemin is gazing at you with the most tender expression imaginable.

“Who says I was pretending?”

#jaemin scenarios #jaemin fluff #jaemin imagines #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct dream scenarios #jaemin x reader #nct fluff #nct dream fanfic #nct fanfic #jaemin fanfic #nct scenario #nct angst #jaemin angst #nct dream fic #nct dream fluff #na jaemin #jaemin #nct #nct dream

[juminly]

Can i just say your last hc😱😱😱😳! Im still squealing over how sweet and cute it was❤❤🥰🌈 So naturally i cant resist but request a continuation HC for ma best bois, Theo, Vincent and Isaac! If u dont mind❤❤😳🌻 also just wanted to send u a reminder incase you forgot...You are a wonderful human! And im super happy to have met such a wonderful ray o sunshine on tumblr ☀️🌞 hope you are keeping safe and warm❤🦋🌻 Thabk you so much dear! Sending u tons of hugs🙌🙌🙌🌻❤🌞

My lovely Zeta, you’re making me blush. Love you, darling and you always brighten up my day with your sweetness. Here are some best bois for you. Tagging @delicateikemenmemes cause Theo... XD 

First kisses with Theodorus, Vincent and Isaac

Theodorus Van Gogh

The first time Theodorus kisses you, you feel alive and truly loved, desired and… needed.

He kisses you out of utter frustration from all the pent-up emotions he's been trying to hide, behind that handsome smug face of his.

Blame and thank his tsundere ass for this kiss.

Threading his fingers softly through your hair, his gentle touch was a contrast to the kiss he surprised attacked you with and the way he’s almost crushing you in his embrace.

Theodorus is fierce, holding you securely against him, not giving you the chance to pull away, even if you wanted to.

His kiss is full of hunger, claiming yours with an incredible sense of urgency and laced with so much passion and intensity as he licks and nips at you, coaxing you to open up for him, entwining his tongue with yours.

This man was making you dizzy, in the most blissful way anyone could do so and if you didn't happen to whine against his mouth and push your hands on his chest, he wouldn't have broken the kiss.

He literally took your breath away and he was almost completely content in not breathing at all, if it meant being connected to you.

His need for you threatened to consume him and his body was slightly shaking as he resisted the need to pull you in for another kiss.

Theo rests his forehead on yours and pants, just simply holding you in the most heartwarming embrace while tangling his fingers through your hair delicately. (Boy is trying to calm himself, okay?)

He'll curse under his breath for losing control then grin a bit abashed by his lack of composure and he’s also kinda blushing, only to find you resting your chin on his chest, looking up at him and smiling softly.

“What are you smiling about, Knabbeltje?”

“Hmm...” you pause to think, his eyes locked on yours then searching your face, captivated by the soft blush on the top of your cheeks. “Just the man I love.”

“H-Hondje… Y/N… You…” he attempts to use a warning tone but he can’t help but croon your name roughly.

“Your Hondje… Your Y/N.”

You poked his heart real hard.

And to put the cherry on top, you go on the tip of your toes, meeting his lips in a kiss that’s so sweet, the man actually melts and moans/sighs against your lips.

You’ve got him wrapped around your finger, darling.

PS: Theodorus Van Gogh is officially flatlining and you are now the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted and his favourite too.

Vincent Van Gogh

When inspiration strikes, this angel surrenders himself to his muse and is in a creative state of trance.

You often find him with paint streaks over his beautiful face and his hair ruffled in a complete mess, as if he thoughtlessly ran his lithe fingers through them over and over again.

In order to get him to stop and take a break (to have some Rouge or Blanc), you’d step in front of his stool, blocking his view from his canvas and give him something to drink and wipe the paint of his face.

He did look adorable but he began asking you to wipe the paint of his face. 

Honestly, he didn’t mind the paint. He just liked it when you were near.

Standing between his legs, you’d dip a piece of cloth in some water and wipe the paint off his cheek and even found paint stains on his face.

Leaning down, you started giggling as you found trouble removing bits of the paint, staining his skin/hair even more than before.

Looking up at you, Vincent was absolutely taken by you, the sound of your soft laughter and your peaceful expression.

Acting on impulse, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you down while he raised himself slightly from the stool, meeting you in the middle in a sweet chaste kiss with a happy smile.

You can feel him smile against your lips and it’s the sweetest thing on earth.

He pulls away only momentarily to assess your expression, seeing the most beautiful shade of pink dusting your cheek and a smile that matched his.

That’s all he needed to see. All that he ever wanted.

He would guide your hand over his shoulder and sit back down on his stool, pushing his knees apart while pulling you closer to him with a gentle hand on your waist.

His expression is relaxed and lips parted as your love for one another brings your lips together once more.

He whispers your name ardently against your lips. He didn’t need to say anything more… you simply knew.

As your lips brush against one another, Vincent sucks and licks your lips, humming with so much zeal, the sound so beguiling that you impulsively allow him to ravage you so sweetly with every push of his tongue against yours.

He draws you closer to sit on his lap, his hands now resting on your sides, caressing your form and squeezing you as you both surrender to your emotions. 

Isaac Newton

This cute bean has been staring at your lips all day. He feels an inexplicable pull to press his lips against yours and kiss you.

He doesn’t know why, he can’t even begin to understand why his body feels the way it does but he needs to do something about it.

You’re beautiful to him. You glimmer, you shimmer, you shine and he wants to bask in the light, the love and the happiness that you’ve shown him in life. 

You’re standing in front of his room, talking to him about something that he was meant to teach you when you suddenly find his face right in front of yours, leaning closer and closer and his nose bumps into yours.

That’s more than enough to make him scowl because his first try was a failure but before he could let his embarrassment overwhelm him (although his cheeks have already turned into the red shade of apples that he claims to hate), he cradles your face with trembling hands and tilts his head to the side, making sure that he angles himself correctly this time, laying the softest of kisses on your lips.

Breathing out nervously, Isaac is barely even able to meet your gaze, still wanting to see your reaction to what just happened.

Did you like it? Did you hate it? Was it wrong for him to do that?

Too many questions were running through that genius brain of his and you definitely knew that.

You firmly grabbed his hands that were placed on your face, ensuring that he doesn’t let his nervousness or hesitation take over.

You finally...  finally got a sign from this shy man and you wanted to let him know that you wanted the same thing he did.

You called his name almost pleadingly, forcing him to look into your eyes that showed nothing but love for him. 

You wanted more and you could see the same reflected in his cherry blossom eyes. 

“Kiss me. Kiss me again, Isaac.”

Your words almost made him choke, hearing the desperation in your voice.

Was that his heart fluttering in his chest or a bunch of butterflies? He couldn’t even tell. He didn’t care.

He just had to comply, leaning towards your lips once again, brushing them gingerly against yours.

Walking closer to him, you closed the distance between you and gradually deepened the kiss, his breath hitching under the intensity of your gentle assault and his knees threatening to buckle, if it wasn’t for the door that was now pressed against his back.

You pushed him against the door even harder as your body flush against his, biting his lower lip and licking your way through as he willingly parts them for you with a silent moan.

You press your tongue against him hungrily and he eventually does the same, pulling one other into the rising warmth and the now simultaneous beating of your hearts.

Isaac’s sense of gravity was completely lost but he couldn’t care less, he found everything that he needed in this moment... in you.

Hope you enjoyed this 💜 Please feel free to leave comments/feedback! Masterlist

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevam #ikevamp theo #ikevamp theodorus #ikevamp vincent #ikevamp isaac #ikemen vampire theo #ikemen vampire theodorus #ikemen vampire vincent #ikemen vampire isaac #ikemen vampire headcanon #ikemen vampire headcanons #ikemen series #cybird #otome #fluff #first kiss

[laurenwritesfics]

Here it comes! Chapter three! 

Read the previous chapter HERE. Read the full series on AO3.

Warning(s): alcohol consumption, use of coarse language, description of car accident

CHAPTER THREE: BEFORE THE STORM

The following morning, Frank woke early to check on Mary.

He could tell she’d been crying. Her cheeks were blotchy. One arm was draped over the side of the bed, seemingly still reaching for the book splayed out on the floor. He rested against the door frame, watching her for a moment. When something was wrong, she was a light sleeper. Desperate for a distraction. It would take her a long time to finally drift off. He didn’t want to walk any closer, fearing the noise might wake her. Then –

“I know you’re there.” Mary’s voice was muffled against her pillow.

“It’s too early. Go back to sleep.”

“Can’t.” Her fingers twitched. “I miss Fred.”

“I know. We’ll look again later, okay? Go to sleep.”

“No.”

Frank sighed and shut the bedroom door.

In the kitchen, Frank washed up last night’s leftover plates. Of course, Roberta hadn’t meant for this to happen. He knew that for certain. Wringing his hands on the dish towel, something occurred to him. What if it was Evelyn? He bristled at the thought.

He slung the dish towel over his shoulder and strode into the hallway to pick up the phone.

“Where’s Fred?” He asked tersely.

“It’s not like you to be awake so early. You’re usually passed out from a night at the bar after messing around with those silly boats.”

“Thanks for your concern, Evelyn.”

He could feel her eyes rolling through the receiver.

“To answer your question, I don’t have a clue where he is. Frankly I think it’s offensive that the first person you’d accuse is your own mother.”

Frank scoffed. “Really?”

“Don’t do this again, Francis.” Whenever Evelyn used his full name, he knew she was pissed. “You can’t blame me for everything.”

“I’m not. I’m just saying I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Honestly, I think it will do her the world of good to spend some time away from that damn cat.”

Now Frank was pissed. “Yeah? Well that damn cat has been more like family to her than you’ve ever been. If you care so much about Mary then why don’t you visit? She needs her grandmother.”

“You know she doesn’t like me. It wouldn’t make any difference.”

“The only reason she doesn’t like you is because she doesn’t know you.”

“She lived with me for six months, Francis.” Evelyn didn’t want to admit that Frank had a point.

“Yeah, and she was gonna run away if the court hadn’t changed the guardianship order.” He shifted his weight and threw an arm out in frustration. “Y’know what, I’m not doing this.”

He didn’t bother to say goodbye.

In the few minutes it took to call Evelyn, Mary had stealthily made her way into the kitchen where she was now attempting to climb the counter to reach the cupboards. Frank rushed over and set her down on the tiles.

“Easy there, Spider-Girl. Go sit down, I’ll make you some eggs.”

Mary shuffled reluctantly over to the kitchen table, where she sat hunched over in deep thought. When Frank slid her plate onto the table, she stabbed half-heartedly at the eggs, taking tiny nibbles. The last time she had been like this was when Diane died. She was grieving again, and it tore Frank apart knowing he couldn’t do anything to stop it. Children react differently to loss – some dwell on it and discover the depth of their emotions, others brush over it and seem to just cope because they don’t fully understand the concept – Mary was the kind of girl who could easily get deeply invested in just about anything. The highs were astronomical. The lows were frightening for her. She was so open, so emotionally vulnerable, but when sadness hit her, she completely shut down. It was as if there were two different girls under the same roof. 

Frank and Roberta were doing their best to instill a sense of hope, but Mary refused to engage. They didn’t understand, she thought. They couldn’t. As much as she trusted, believed and understood the adults in her life, sometimes they could be frustratingly rational. She knew that they had her best interests at heart, and knew there was every chance Fred would be out there somewhere, but just for once, she wished someone would cry with her. All the comfort in the world couldn’t erase the fact that her best friend was gone. A part of her was missing.

For the sake of maintaining the illusion of normalcy, she had agreed to go to school for at least one more day. If they couldn’t find Fred, then she was going to stay home. Frank didn’t want her to feel isolated. She didn’t need to be put under more stress.

As they drove to school, Mary remained mute. When he dropped her off at the gates, she finally spoke.

“You don’t have to pick me up. I’ll walk home.”

Frank opened his mouth to protest but knew it would be useless.

She slammed her door shut.

He watched her shoulders slump, her feet dragging as she made her way through the yard. It broke his heart.

On the way home, he circled the neighborhood multiple times, rolling down the window to call out for Fred. Still, nothing. He called Roberta. Nothing. 

Heading out to the docks, he threw himself into work. He rattled drawers, pored over blueprints, made several phone calls. The afternoon wore on, dissolving into empty stillness. Frank climbed aboard the Celestia – a gleaming yacht that was the pride and joy of a wealthy dentist in Coral Gables – pushed his toolbox aside and broke into the storage drawer where he’d hidden an icebox. He grabbed a beer, popped the bottle cap in the sink and headed back up onto the deck. One day he’d have his own Celestia. Or at least be rich enough to consider it. When he started freelance maintenance work, he was driven purely by passion projects and impulsive agreements with bar patrons. Upon Mary’s arrival, he became a ‘yes man’. He took on anything he could to provide for her, even if it meant working until the early hours or missing Mary’s piano recitals. It didn’t matter how exhausted, frustrated or depressed he was, he struggled through for her. 

His thoughts drifted to Diane. What she would be doing now. Mathematics was her life, but it wasn’t her passion. He remembered visiting her one Saturday afternoon, confronted with chaos. Diane flung the door open and greeted him, covered in paint. Mary ran towards him, pressing tiny red hand-prints onto his freshly-laundered shirt. He thought of her first gallery showing. The way she glowed with pride. Mary’s enthusiasm as she held Diane’s hand and introduced them both to as many people as she could. Even those she already knew. It is, of course, impossible to travel back in time and change the course of your personal history. But Frank couldn’t help wondering what might have happened if it was possible. He certainly wouldn’t be day drinking on a yacht feeling like a complete and utter failure. Would Diane think he was? Probably not. They stood by each other unfalteringly. When Mary was old enough to add her first scribbles to a birthday card, she signed it (or rather, Diane did - Mary drew a scraggly flower and a heart) ‘to the world’s best uncle’. Diane embraced him and told him yes, he really was.

He believed it then. Things were different now.

 Bleary-eyed, Frank glanced at his watch. Shit. He needed to go home.

He fumbled for his keys and dropped down onto the dock. The sedan rattled to life. If Mary was ever locked out of the house, she would usually walk to Roberta’s for a spare key. If Roberta wasn’t home, she would wait by the front door, kicking up dirt. Now, though, all Frank could picture was Mary walking alone, too hell-bent on sleuthing to realize that she was lost. He swung out of the shipyard and drove down to Mary’s school. She wasn’t waiting in the parking lot. He headed to the reception desk. The secretary had seen her leave with the rest of her class. Frank said a quick ‘thank you’ and ran back to the car. A pang of tipsy dizziness hit him, so he sat in the car for a few minutes, pinched the bridge of his nose and blinked rapidly in a bid to straighten himself out.

He took the long way home. The streets were empty. He pulled into the driveway, got out and peered through the window. The TV was switched off. There were no books strewn across the floor or on the coffee table. He opened the door and called for her. No response. He checked her room. Empty. Frank was starting to panic.

Before he set off again, he cracked open another beer. He knew he shouldn’t, but he did it anyway. The stress – or rather, the self-inflicted guilt - was just too much to handle sober. Then, he called Roberta. “Roberta, it’s Frank. Have you seen Mary?”

“I’m sorry honey, I haven’t. She hasn’t come by.”

“Shit. Where the hell is she? This isn’t like her.”

“Maybe she’s hanging out with a friend? Study group?”

“She doesn’t have any friends.” It sounded harsh, but it was true. “If she’s gone out there on her own looking for Fred…if something’s happened to her, I’ll never forgive myself.”

“Don’t talk like that, Frank. I’m sure she’s fine. She’ll come home.”

“I’m gonna go drive around the neighborhood. If she comes by the house, call me.”

“Of course I will.”

“Thanks, Roberta. I owe you one.”

Without missing a beat, Roberta replied. “No charge.”

It occurred to him then that there was one place he hadn’t looked – the beach.

Frank stumbled into the car and shakily turned the key.

Even through his beer-tinted haze, he couldn’t see her anywhere. Mary’s voice repeated in his head as he drove.

“Slow down! Mom said never go to bed or drive angry.”

He wasn’t angry. He was anxious.

Turning down the winding lane that would eventually lead him to the beach, Frank felt a surge of adrenaline rip through his entire body. He gradually picked up speed. She was there. She had to be.

He was so caught up in his own trail of thought that he didn’t realize the car had started to sway. It was getting later. Darker.

It was starting to rain. The road was getting slicker by the second.

The blinding beam of oncoming headlights caught him off-guard.

He swerved.

The crunch of metal against metal echoed down the quiet lane.

Now he was sober.

Permanent taglist: @hiddelstannerbarnes  @redlipstickandblacktea @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho @djeniiscorner @its-tortle @k347 @ixalit @iguessweallcrazyithinktho @cevansfics @capchrisevaans @hawkeyeandthewintersoldier @musette22 @mcubabydotcom @worksby-d @chuckbass-love @bluemusickid @fallinforevans @hellobeautworld @katiew1973 @disaster-dean @rebthom89 @navybrat817 @denisemarieangelina @thesecretlifeofdaydreamss @brattycherubwrites @cherrychris @celestialbarnes @the-iceni-bitch @caplanbuckybarnes @caplanreads @autumnrose40 @mashep23 @babyyhoneyydarling @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @autumnrose40 @what-is-your-backupplan-today @stargazingfangirl18 @divine-mistake @angrybirdcr @dangerouslovefanfic @cloudystevie  @steebsbabygirl @eurynome827 @sweeterthanthis @honeyloverogers @patzammit @nakedrogers @before-we-get-started @howdoyousleep3​

#The Pieces We Leave Behind #Lauren Writes #laurenwritesfics #Gifted #Frank Adler #Mary Adler #Chris Evans #McKenna Grace #Chris Evans fanfiction #Chris Evans x reader #Chris Evans smut #Chris Evans fluff #Frank Adler x reader #Frank Adler x Lucy Montgomery #Frank x Lucy #angst #angst fic #chris evans x black!reader #chris evans x latina!reader

[littlefreya]

The Way to Hell - Part 13

Summary: Post Mi6, Alternate Canon. August escaped Ethan Hunt with his face intact and just won himself the title of being the most dangerous man on earth. Brooding as he is, August is unwilling to back down on his murderous agenda he plots to continue where he was stopped.

Series Completed: Previous Chapter | | Chapters Masterlist | Next Chapter

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild) 🖤

Word count: 5k

Warnings: Mentions of sexual encounters, child neglect, betrayal, hinted physical abuse,  foul language and lots of angst.   

A/N: I thought chapter 13 will be the last one, but I didn’t want to rush the ending or have a chapter too long. So for those of you still waiting, hang in tight! Many thanks to @agniavateira​ who’s my muse and my editor, to @raspberrydreamclouds​ for this amazing cover and to those who’s been asking me about the chapter, means a lot to me. I am going into my usual Way to Hell posting panic attack. So bye for now.

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of the source material and claiming it as your own*

Please comment, review and reblog.  💖

Title: Paradise lost

There cannot be peace before first a great suffering.  There cannot be love without first a great tragedy.

~*~

Opaline droplets of sweat form on his forehead. In his ears, a constant buzzing rings wretchedly as if an angry hornet is caged inside his skull. What was long buried abruptly awakens, stabbing at the back of his head. Red flashes sear through his eyes while images of Ingvild dissolving to ashes play in his mind, her bloodsoaked feathers crumbling to the ground.

“Why did you go?” August mutters under his breath, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He crumples the little yellow note with sheer frustration before throwing it on the bed. 

‘I told her not to go, I commanded her!’

The air in the room grows thick like the pit of a stygian forest. Tentacle-like branches appear behind his eyes creeping closer, clutching his limbs. Even though lost and abandoned in the thicket of his mind, her angelic scent still lingers on his skin, impossible to wash off. Sniffing at his biceps, he inhales the mixture of their union on his flesh;  what begins as euphoric mirth quickly meets the sharp edge of rage and hatred.

She’s gone and it gnaws at the dark matter of his brain. 

He hates it. 

Hates her for being absent.

Frowning deeply, August reaches a rigid hand for his clothes, forcing himself to get dressed. The very first memory of her hinges on his mind: An icy woman with silver-moon eyes who refused his pursuit. 

‘Did you think the two of you are going to ride toward the sunset together? That’s not you.’

Letting out heavy gasps, he shakes his head. “She’ll be fine,” he whispers dismissively, pulling on his trousers and hastily buckling his belt. 

The new world order awaits, so close he can feel the fresh sun sitting on his open palm. It is his vision, his legacy: bigger than whatever it is Ingvild and him have together. 

There was no her in his plan, to begin with. 

The Devil never had a queen. 

‘You know what they’ll do to her…’

Another ray of daytime terror cuts through his thoughts: her wings plucked from her back, threads of flesh tearing from her naked body. Her screams die in silence.  

“She chose to leave, I asked her not to!” August yells into the empty room, frowning at no one but himself as he grabs the used shirt which hangs from the tall mirror. Turning to his reflection, he tenses at the sight of his body. Crimson valleys lead down his back, courtesy of her claws branding deep into soft tissue and toned muscles.

‘Do you know what is the probability of finding someone like her? A woman who wants to see the world burn with you? Who believes in your cause of building a new one?’

August swallows hard and combs his fingers through his hair with haste, attempting to act normal through the intensifying drumming in his ears. Being completely methodical, he pulls his long trench coat over his shoulders and collects his belongings into his black duffle bag on the bed. With a heavy painful breath, he forces his thoughts away, zipping the bag with urgency and reciting in his mind everything necessary for his trip. Time is scarce, the end and the new beginning are nigh; the smart thing to do is to forget her, erase her existence from the chambers of his heart. 

He doesn’t have one anyway. 

His hand secures the gun in its holster and harsh fingers lace around the black straps of his bag as he stretches himself straight, ready to leave this bedroom. That’s when his eyes fall again to the crumpled yellow note. 

‘You’ll never see her in Kashmir, you’ll never see her again.’ 

~*~

‘Amazing,’ the silver-haired wolf muses while scratching his bristly jaw. For 13 years the evil spawn’s eyes remained exactly as they were the day he picked her from the orphanage. Grey crystal orbs so naive, clueless, and oh so hungry for validation. A child desperate to prove herself worthy to someone, anyone. 

It was her single flaw and his greatest advantage.

Even now in the bloom of adulthood, the pale, scrawny thing standing before him is nothing but a lost little girl who wants someone to hold her bony hand. 

‘How can someone be so smart yet at the same time so blind?’

The cheap motel room smells like mildew and rotten wood. Speckles of dust float between the handler and his prodigy, cascading over his glance that seems rather alien and naked as glass. It pierces through her muscles - this sudden sense of peculiarity and estrangement.     

She chews the inside of her cheeks and sways slightly on her spot, arms hanging loose at her side. Ingvild lifts her chin to look at Liam, her eyes round with what can only be guilt. It makes her look like a child who broke an antique vase. 

“Thank you for answering my call,” she begins, wrapping her fist around a disposable phone before throwing it on the tidy bed.

Liam scoffs and shakes his head, ridicule spreading on his face. “You’ve gotten yourself into trouble over a boy, child?” He stares up and down the young woman, noticing the obvious change in her posture.

‘So, she truly is a woman now; how did I not see this one coming with her constant chatter about how handsome he is when I handed her the dossier?’

“Please don’t tell me you need money to get an abortion.” 

Ingvild frowns with disgust and shakes her head right away. “Never. No, it’s not what I’m here for.”

Displeased as always, Liam emits his usual grunt. He slowly shakes his head at his asset while running his fingers through his lanky grey hair. This is not how he imagined this mission to end. Her lack of emotions was a key element; Ingvild could have had a few good years running several missions for him, but what tipped the scale was for her to run into the wrong psychopath.

“Then tell me Ingvild, why should I listen to a failed assassin such as yourself? You’ve been weird about this mission since day one. Acting discreet, irresponsible, and reckless,” the old man’s Adam's apple bobs up and down in his throat as he speaks. Taking a small stride, he moves closer to get a better look of her diamond irises. So sharp and so strange, they’ve always irked him. As a child she downright looked like something out of a horror movie. 

“You’ve had 445 successful missions, not even 30 years old. Yet here you are a failure, and for what? For a boy?”

Shame traps her tongue and her glance drops to the floor. Failure stings like a rod of hot iron piercing her beating heart. Yet her mind races to the night at the pit where August finally claimed her, the memory of his lips sets glowing embers through her veins. On her skin remains the evidence of his embrace. Microscopic cells, tinted by his DNA. 

She doesn’t want this feeling to go away. 

Liam clears his throat, tearing her away from memories that turn from tar to honey the longer she dwells on them.

“You know why your mother gave you away, Ingi?” Liam asks, giving her a ghastly sardonic smile while cocking one eyebrow.

‘Liam never smiles.’ 

A small frown sets creases above her freckled nose. “I asked you many times before and you always said you don’t know.”

The Dane scoffs at her, his smile widening, exposing cigarette-and-coffee-stained teeth. The rot around his gums makes her curl her nose slightly and flinch as he leans closer. 

“You were a rape baby.”

The words send a pang through her muscles, like stepping on glass. She shakes her head with protest and steps back, yet Liam nods knowingly, standing in front of her.

“You’re lying.”

His small hazel eyes burn holes through her skull, his smile sinister and impish. “Your father was a savage, a rapist. He left your poor mother half-dead and impregnated in the forest you love so much. Who knows, maybe that’s why you kept going there as a child, reconnecting with your true nature.” 

Refusing to listen, she shies from his piercing glare. Liam reaches a coarse hand to cup her jaw, forcing her face back to his. “Your mother hated you. Your very existence reminds her of the most terrible thing that ever happened to her.”

For a child with such a limited emotional range, Liam finds that the muscles of her face are capable of stretching thoughtfully with spite. Pent up hatred creases her brow, her silver eyes turning to hot, molten gold. She bites on her tongue, keeping a vow of silence but he can read her face just the way an assassin would. 

“Nothing but a mistake, disowned by your own mother. So why would this man, this... mass murdering psychopath love you?” Liam shifts her head from side to side, inspecting the healing cuts and bruises that decorates her pale skin. “He saw an opportunity and seized it, used you…”

He pauses, moving away from a stare colder than icy lake water, “just like they will.”

Ingvild parts her lips with wonder, glaring at the person she knew all her life with disbelief. In the glossy reflection of Liam’s honey-brown eyes, she sees several black, long rifles pointed at her head.

Liam curls his thin lips with an utter lack of remorse and shrugs indifferently.

“She’s yours.”

*~*~

If colours had sound then the pale blinding white would be a continuous high-frequency hum. The tunes and shades of death. Like angry flies feasting on a corpse. 

‘Is this Valhalla?’

A small groan escapes her mouth, her eyes hurting from the sickly radiance of the narrow fluorescent lamps hanging from the ceiling. Her wrists feel numb as they’re pulled behind her back in restraints. 

“No,” she opens her mouth to speak, her throat burning, her voice a hoarse whisper. “Definitely not Valhalla...” 

‘You need to be a hero to enter Valhalla, stupid girl.’

Stupid didn’t even begin to describe it. August would never let her hear the end of it.

Loud, angry steps tap on the white marble floor, growing louder as the person approaching enters the room. Ingvild blinks, peering at the silhouette when a smile of comfort paints her drowsy face. Like a god, her lover strides toward her with his usual confidence. His ocean-blue eyes beam at her sight, his palm spread open to embrace his tiny Valkyrie. She chuckles at the mischievous, charming grin on his face as it reminds her the day they first met. 

Oh, she wishes to nibble his stupid chin right now and brush her fingers along his thick moustache.

But as she blinks again, large brown almond-shaped eyes replace the ocean-blue. A panther of a woman stands before her: confident, strong, and impossibly beautiful. Her dark, succulent lips are pressed together and concern shines through as she observes the small woman who has her arms cuffed behind her back and her feet shackled to the metal legs of the chair. 

With her head still heavy, the assassin turns her face from side to side. She quickly observes the armed guards at the entrance, the tall, greying agent standing nonchalantly against the wall awaiting orders, and lastly the sickly-looking, lean man who is positioned at the fore of a metal desk with his fingers laced together. Anticipation is written all over his line-riddled face. 

“Erica Sloane,” Ingvild calls knowingly, the ghost of a wicked smile dancing on her chapped lips as she turns her head to face the CIA director. Dressed in a black power suit and crimson pumps, the director is drenched with big dick energy.

“August told me so much about you, but he didn’t mention how fuckable you are.” Ingvild drawls, fluttering her lashes as she scans her from head to toe. 

Tilting her head, Erica grabs a white plastic chair and places it in front of Ingvild. She then takes a seat, crossing her long smooth legs together. Kindness and motherly concern pours from her dark eyes, expressions Ingvild never received from anyone in her life.

“Poor child, I imagine August Walker filled your head with many stories.”

“No…” Ingvild swallows, trying to dampen her sore throat. Noticing her struggle, Erica snaps her fingers and the greying agent rushes to bring her a plastic cup of water like a loyal dog. Focusing on the translucent beads around the cup, Ingvild flicks her tongue over her lips. “August was too busy filling other parts of me.”

The intrepid woman begins to laugh at her own joke, her voice dragging groggily while Erica rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

“I imagine so.” She answers and then carefully tilts the cup to Ingvild’s lips, offering the drink to the girl who sips with desperation as if she walked the desert. “August was my best agent,” she explains, watching the stream of water that rolls down Ingvild’s chin as she gulps with an incredible thirst, “a really proficient assassin, ranked high in every mission I sent him to. My golden boy. Even though that shit-eating attitude of him was something else...”

Withdrawing the cup, she looks into Ingvild’s cold silvery stare. “Those snarky, arrogant remarks and him going through the whole department like a fox in a hen coop I could overlook. But that fucker had us all fooled, Ingvild, as he fooled you.”

Ingvild flutters her dark lashes and tips her chin up. Her defined cheekbones sharpen even more as a snake-like arrogance poisons her face. “August told me what you did,” she utters sincerely, while Erica commands the agent to refill the plastic cup. Loathing melts her beautiful sullen glaciers as she focuses on Erica. 

The CIA director narrows her eyes at her in return, and curls her lips downward as disdain fills her mouth. “I am not the one who made Walker murder Agent Hartmann, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“You deceived him,” Ingvild retorts calmly and sucks in her bottom lip, collecting the remaining droplets of water onto her tongue. “That’s what you and your little agencies do to people like us. Set up traps for predators and pretend to act surprised as they eat the bait.”

Holding the cup, Erica stares at the young woman thoughtfully, the burning hatred in her eyes reminding her so much of Agent Walker: An entitled spoiled brat, thinking he can wind the world to the direction only he sought to be right. 

“You can’t blame a predator for following its nature, and you can’t expect him to behave otherwise.” 

“Is that how you see yourself?” Erica asks, moving the cup away, though she can see the thirst on Ingvild’s gaping bottom lip. “August poisoned your mind but I assure you, you are not the monster he is. You never had the choice that he did.”

Erica’s voice suddenly becomes soft, and her big brown eyes become round with care that only a parent can express. But the only form of parent Ingvild ever had was Liam, and he was never much of a father, was he? It took less than a few hours for him to give her away. 

She wonders how long it took for her real mother.

Her gaze drops, peering at Erica’s shiny crimson shoes as they counter the lifelessness of the floor like blood in the snow. Memories whisk her away again, a man in pursuit of a woman deep in an icy forest. She should have died that night and yet here she is, shackled to a chair. The voice of the man who saved her echoes through her head with a fair warning: ‘Liam never gave a flying fuck about you.’

Sharp as a needle, it pricks her heart.

“I know what Icarus did. Moulding you into the perfect assassin, depriving you of the childhood and the life you deserved.” Erica’s voice cuts into her trail of thoughts, making her raise her gaze back to the beautiful woman. “Now, I don’t know what twisted fantasies August may have offered but I can assure you, they are empty just like him. You read his file, you know what he’s capable of. Looking at your scars and bruises I assume he hurts you for his own sick pleasure, taking advantage of a woman who only wants to be loved.”

‘She doesn’t know him like I do, the way he drank my lips and called me his angel, the way his fingertips beat the warm blood in my arteries.’ Ingvild shuts her eyes, soaking in the remnants of his touch as it still ghosts across her body.

Erica’s kind, tepid hand wraps around the young woman’s jaw, lifting her pale face with the cautiousness of a human tending a wild creature. Grey and dark-brown collide at the seams as they share a silent stare.    

“If you’ll give us his location, we can arrange for your freedom and protection.”  

Ingvild breaks away from Erica’s grip, pushing herself back in the chair as much as she can. The screech of metal against marble makes the guards cringe. Slow and cold, a sardonic chuckle begins to burst from Ingvild’s lungs. The laughter echoes off the walls while she shakes her head with disbelief. 

“Do I look like a dumb bitch to you? Even if this was true, do you think I’m willing to be a slave to another government? Kept ignorant and tabbed? I’d rather rot in this cell while my beautiful monster dismantles your old world order.”

Drops of water splash at her face as Erica squashes the plastic cup in front of her, sulking with fury. Her eyebrows knit together and she purses her lips as if this young woman is something sour on her tongue. 

Evidently, Liam was right; the girl is far too gone, living in the little fantasy world August built for her. 

“If you think he ever cared about you for a split second, then you are a dumb bitch. No matter how this plays out, you and August are never going to end up happily ever after.” Erica spits, holding her finger at Ingvild’s childlike frown. “He’s never going to come for you. You were nothing but a toy, a plaything for him to pass the time.”

Ingvild scoffs and rolls her eyes, refusing to let these words cut into the beating muscle in her chest. 

`Stick and stones may break my bones...’

Solid, slender fingers wrap around her jaw, squeezing around her cheeks like a big spider. She is met with Erica’s long lashes, while those deep brown eyes slice into her soul. 

“You might think you know him, but I’ve worked with August long enough to know that he never loved anything other than his precious ego. So I would consider this as your final chance little girl, because if you don’t talk right now - this nice fellow here...” Erica pauses and gestures her head to the scrawny man who begins to hum a blissful tune while cracking his knuckles. Twisted excitement shines through his beady eyes as he glances at the set of sharp surgical tools lying on the desk.

“He’s going to make you sing like the precious bird you are.”

Fear shies from Ingvild’s stoic, icy face. The well-lubricated gears in the labyrinth of her head begin to work, observing the possible escape options and scanning every cavity, crease, and man in Erica’s lovely torture chamber.  

The door suddenly bursts open. A man in his mid thirties with bright red hair and a freckle-covered face rushes in, huffing heavily. His pink skin glistens with sweat, the strands of his fiery hair sticking on his large forehead while his hand holds onto his chest with distress. 

“Sloane, there is something you need to see…” he opens his mouth breathlessly.

“Not now!” Sloane snaps at him, looking at Ingvild with contempt. There is nothing she wishes more than to avoid torturing a young woman, especially someone as misguided as this poor porcelain doll. All she needs is to make her see the truth, that August never cared for her, that she was just another pawn in his grand scheme. 

“Director, I am sorry, but you really need to come and see this.” 

Agitated, Erica snaps in her chair to look at him. “What is it, Agent Louis?”

“It’s John Lark’s manifesto, ma’am…” he sighs, shoulders slumping, “it’s… it’s everywhere.”

A shivering hiss escapes her mouth. The shiver that graces the rail of her spine is like a shower of icy water, making her slowly rise from her chair. August’s harmful “poetry” is released into the air like toxic gas, contaminating every fragile little mind in an already unstable world.  

“Do you like my little surprise?” Ingvild asks, making the baffled woman turn to gaze at her. There’s a malicious little smile dancing across her eyes, her brows lifting with an arrogance that strongly resembles Agent Walker. 

Swallowing hard, the CIA woman takes a step back, tugging her jacket straight and looking at the torturer who lifts a small hammer between his pliable fingers. 

“Break her, until she talks.” 

The harsh tapping of her heels dies down and her silhouette becomes smaller until it disappears behind the shutting door. 

“Pretty girl...” The man’s voice is brittle and thin as he is, every word ending with a slight snake-like hiss. He moves to scrutinise her from head to toe, flicking his tongue over his bottom lip with a prying nature. 

“You know August used to mock me…”

“I can see why,” she spits out, looking back at him with both fearlessness and utter disrespect. She killed men bigger than him, hell, August’s kneaded her to submission and his torture was nothing but sweet. 

She can take him on, she can take all of them on.

The lean man beams at her, holding up the small shiny hammer and running his finger over the rim pervertedly. The dead skin around his nails rouses disgust in her gut, yet she rolls her eyes and fakes a yawn.

He chuckles at her theatrics and kneels in front of her with one unstable hand pressing onto her thigh. His revolting fingers scratch gently at her denim, making her shiver. If August knew another man was laying his finger on her… 

But August is not here.

“Well… shall we begin, little bird?”

***

‘When this world ends and the new one begins, what will be of your little Valkyrie? Merely bones and rotting flesh laid in an unmarked grave in the middle of nowhere and mourned by no one. Won’t you be jealous of the insects feasting on her narcotic tissue?’

Cold air seeps through his nose as sharp bullets of hail hit the ground with the fury of angry gods, shattering onto the ruins of an old bridge with a loud, clattering noise. Sheltered from the rage of the heavens, August stands beneath the wreckage, facing the men who came to make the final exchange. 

Blue and green ferns have grown over the decaying surroundings, climbing over rusted metal. Nature reclaiming its place over man’s occupied space. Justice and beauty in decadence and rot. 

‘Memento mori.’

“The plutonium,”  August demands, his thick brows shadowing his eyes in a battle to remain composed. Those same parasitic visions of sheer terror burden him like a daytime nightmare: pale as porcelain, she sinks to the bottom of a lake thick with blood. His hand reaches out for her, fingers trying to grasp whatever he can but she slips away. 

‘How far do you think Erica will go this time?’ 

A rogue droplet of sweat glides languidly down his temple, crossing over a bulging tendon. Unfortunately quite apparent to the three men who scrutinise him with wonder: two well-paid bodyguards and a slimy-looking slug, wearing a dark business suit that does nothing but emphasize his fragile masculinity. 

“The money first!” The businessman whines, attempting to make a tough face.

‘A cock and two balls.’ August jests and does his best to remain indifferent while anxiety threatens to claw its ugly talons in his throat. The seller’s receding hairline is thick with dandruff, his dull green eyes attempt to mimic confidence, as a beta male would do when facing a pure alpha, trying to compensate for lost dignity.  

‘I don’t have time for this,’ August huffs, his chest puffing and the immense shoulders stretching even wider, exhuming his natural overpowering dominance. His patience runs brittle as a dry twig. A restless throb thunders between his ears like a scab, latched inside his brain. 

The slug pries his mouth open to speak, yet his voice becomes dull as if the world just went underwater.

‘Do you think she’ll go as far as to let her men touch her? You know, not just the usual torture they put interrogated suspects through, but the type of touch only you are allowed to.’

‘She doesn’t have the balls, she won’t do that to another woman.’ 

‘Won’t she? It’s personal this time. Erica knows what you are capable of. And your Ingvild, she’s an apostle too now, an enemy of the world…’

Fever burns at his sweaty forehead and his lungs gradually collapse. Visions he can’t even bring himself to imagine attempt force their way into his mind. The yapping of the man who stands in front of him goes on and on; while August can feel himself speak in response, the words spouting from his lips are on autopilot. 

All he can think of is her, stripped naked, torn to shreds by dark shadows.   

‘She holds back a lot, but when she slips, aren’t her screams so beautiful? Her pleasant little voice, stretching so melodically, like skin over bone, thin and light.’

“Shut up!”

All eyes lift to August in silent bewilderment. His fists tighten, nails digging into his coarse palms as the will to rip someone to shreds beats through his blood. These men will be no more than a casualty. 

“Do you know who I am?” He asks in a deep, menacing tone, his hand but a second from reaching his holster. By measured calculation, he already anticipates how quickly he would shoot them one by one without so much of a scratch on his cheek.

“I’m John, fucking, Lark. My apostles are awaiting orders this very instance,” he reaches for his phone, ignoring the flinch in their posture as he draws it from his pocket and shakes it in his hand on display, “and you want to stand here in this shit weather and measure dicks? Spoiler alert,” he takes a stride in front of the little man, careless of his bodyguards who reach for their weapons, “mine is far bigger.”   

The seller peers at him silently, noticing the icy crust of rage in August’s glare. His pale eyes cut like diamonds while the shadow of his brooding figure falls upon the small man’s face. 

“You will get your money once I get to see the plutonium and confirm it’s authenticity,” August calls out assertively, each word distinguished, each syllable emphasised and sharp as a blade. Death is no longer an enemy to August Walker but an old friend, and those trolls under the bridge are a mere joke to the inferno he’s been basking at his entire life.

‘Limb by limb, feather by feather, while you waste your time...’

‘She wanted me here, she wanted me to secure the plutonium. If I don’t do this, it will all be for nothing.’

‘So now you are doing this for her?’

Not saying another word, the seller nods and snaps his fingers. Agitation is evident on his face yet the violence emanating from August forces him to bite down his pride. One of his henchmen approaches with a suitcase and opens it up to show August the orbs.

Thunder rips through the sky and the hail turns into a symphony of wrath. Icicles break across the construction site above, splashing water everywhere around them. Staring at the platinum spheres, August sees his own reflection dulled by the dirty silver curve. 

A dormant thing. But when set into motion, ever so deadly. 

He presses the beryllium rod to test the authenticity of the material and a sigh of relief pipes itself through his nose at the sound of the radioactive note on his testing device. Celebration blooms in his weary heart but the festivity is deemed achingly empty and dies out right away. 

‘Stop thinking about her, she’s gone. Focus on the cause, you’re almost there, just keep pushing through the doors.’ 

~*~

The blizzard melted into shy rain. The soft little drops dampen his hair, perming his large curls with the assistance of the cool winter breeze. Standing with the suitcase on the side of the rural road, August awaits his ride taking him to the helipad to proceed to Kashmir. It has been so long since he last met his true colleagues, since his departure from Lane in Norway. Avoiding any risks, contact was kept only necessary for the last stages of their tasks.

Doom’s day.

Securing the plutonium should have brought him relief, yet his chest continues to sink into his spine as if it’s being filled with coals. August Walker threaded through life alone, yet this sudden solitude is suddenly harrowing, making him feel like a gutted fish. Looking to his empty side he the ghost of her appears, giving him a bratty smirk. 

“Go away,” he chides, refusing to think of her. Of that stupid mouth talking back, tormenting him with sweet saccharine and cinnamon-like kisses. In his reminiscences, the softness of her lips still hinges. Tenderness meeting the bristle of his neck as she lay gentle wet markings up his coarse jaw. 

His fingers press to his mouth trying to harness the memory. 

A large car drives into the side of the road, speeding up and braking right next to his legs, missing August’s foot by an inch. Frowning at the careless driver, he grunts and brushes his hair before opening the passenger door.

“Took you awhile,” he grunts as he slips into the seat and peers at the driver. A bulky man in his early 40s with dark short cropped curls and thin lips. He shoots August a glance and turns back to the steering wheel.  

“Not my bad, you made a fucking mess, Lark.” The man answers and begins driving right away, careless of the fact that August didn’t put his seatbelt on and that he is holding radioactive material. 

Throwing the seatbelt over himself and fastening it, August growls and carefully secures the case on the side of the driver seat, his index finger remaining on the brim. He gently caresses the hard black leather. “What the fuck are you talking about?” 

The driver peers at him oddly before looking down the road, driving fast and passing a large log truck. “Releasing the manifesto. MI6 and the CIA are all over the place,” he says and turns the radio on, letting August hear the news on his own. “I get why you did it now, it’s brilliant to cause another distraction but you’ve made shit a bit harder with those cunts running around. They tracked it back from London and have been surveying the entire area.”

“I didn’t release the... “ 

August stills, his muscles shriveling up as realisation quickly hits him. 

‘Oh angel, what have you done?’

Drawing out his mobile phone, August immediately begins to search the newsite, his eyes an ocean of panic, fluttering back and forth. It’s everywhere, news about an anarchist manifesto, spreading like a virus through every social media outlet, leaked by codename “Jane Lark”. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, reading his own written word as he goes through an article posted on the BBC’s newsite. But she changed the last verse, added a little piece of her own:  

“Valkyries mounted onto beasts,  We will ride eternal to the sun. The blazes will sear us but we will not back down,  United by our cause of just war, Unflinching we will scour the earth, Until humanity comes together in tranquil and harmony.”

‘She loves you, you see? The way she lets you bleed her, use her, spill all your pain inside her. The way she held onto you just a night ago, your name falling from her lips, her body pressing into yours to take all of you. She’s the only one. The only woman who did and ever will. 

And you left her to die.’

________________________________

Disclaimer: I don’t own Mission Impossible and August Walker

#henry cavill #august walker #henry cavill fanfiction #august walker fanfiction #littlefreya’s fiction #mission impossible fallout fanfiction #august walker x ofc #mission impossible fallout